themodernity is not our creation, but we are writing about it. a confusing dystopia where Truth is lost, and the authors of meaning are all dead. apart from us. ahem.
modern lovers of the world, unite and take over.
Sunday, November 14, 2004
unmodern love
Heavenly Cloth
Had I the courage of the heavens, Verily, I would lay these at your feet in gentle solliloquy. And had I more than middlenight tears To weave, I would spin the stars into a cloth for you, Sweet, my love; precious, my dear.
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