hunger.

we're not gothic - we're romanesque.

slantwise & perfection / into the planar spaces. to-day i'll catch you, i know you will / spin out beneath my fingers. somewise. goddamn. it's not ever quite right, is it, the way that the light falls down around your ears? a little more -

a little tweak -

just a bit more spin, a bit more weak rotation over around the corners of your veins. & we'll never try to thin all this away: smoke in back rooms, some sad mafioso.