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You bound our spines.It was summer. He braided daisy chains and called them flowers; she tangled words and called them speech. I was the only one who knew the truth; that the thin lines of cellulose that run beneath the tender skin of a leaf are not so different from the veins of blood and sentiment that pulse through syllables as they smack against your teeth.You bound our spines.
I was the weaver. To the art of his flower arranging, I added in her words, until it was no longer clear whose work was whose. I taught her poetry, and he taught me composition. She taught nothing in particular --exc
by =cairnthecrow
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moved accounts
FlirtydeviantID
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Devious Info
- Favourite movie: tekkonkinkreet
- Favourite genre of music: alternative
- Favourite style of art: surreal and abstract
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