Her lips are cold (of course they are cold; she is clay, cold clay, and never more to be warm) and as boundless as the shores of a pond; they are the same age, for death erases all boundaries, and they wrap each other close, arm to arm, unbeating heart to unbeating, unbroken heart.
December 1 2012, 19:18:54 UTC 4 years ago
December 3 2012, 22:01:37 UTC 4 years ago