The Overtures
.
It’s the whiskey lips kiss I miss;
the late night rushes of blood;
the fists; the shallow graves
of morning; the dull mirror
of memory; the orchestra
endlessly practicing.
.
It’s the whiskey lips kiss I miss;
the late night rushes of blood;
the fists; the shallow graves
of morning; the dull mirror
of memory; the orchestra
endlessly practicing.
