1811.

We are an enmeshed
riot of memories and
emotion, so linked.

1810.

We are an ocean,
adrift and tumultuous,
seeking some anchor.

1809.

The colored fever
of this fall's storms, resonates
like an anchored bell.

1808.

She dresses herself
in his vision, cloaking skin
with a hungry need.

1807.

A massacre of
expended motion, spent and
forever wanting.

1806.

His eyes, a slow and
well-guarded secret, holding
gentle heart's hostage.

1805.

Hypnotization
in motion. The night a lure
of dreams and shadows.