Whose marrow now, the bone-white birch, still remembers the weight of wings that were never meant to keep ghosts, only borrow them like library books, overdue. Come dawn, the river spits out all our drowned names, in perfect alphabetical order,...

"Oh dash it all!" cried he, in tones most desolate. "Pray tell me, chaps—have you observed, my toddy’s wayward fate?""...before the friar's gateit vanished, quite without a trace, like empire’s fading gleam, one sip too short of paradise—""But now it’s...

…tell meis this something you’d like to feel again?…….how I’d crush… inside of you? ….deep fuck the ideaslanguishing…inside of your mind…stroke your sexy madness with our ancient love language?… make your body collapse…relapse…hard….as your pussy snaps back into…a familiar reality? …olde and deep...