O.B.L.I.V.I.O.N>oblivion
Decidedly Aesthetic-al...
Gazing at cogitation of tangible notions idled,
An abeyance...so minuet...interim...I reel the cold knob propel a wavelet of
glacial coherence as it's denotation scribbling pellucid water cascading
propelling it astern till inundates of variegated driblets
Elude the sink's head...
DRIP.
DRIP.
PLINK.
DRI...
Once more,
a pivot of the sink's helve promulgated, (pulling forth ) vexations...frivolous inquisitions
chaffed, festered, throbbed...
Why was I was here...aesthetically, tis' dark mocca radiated, iridescent as
comely I lie...beauteous umbra man I was...blithesome of this semblence I subsist (am)
Analogous...I requisite nigher, in voluminous credulousness
the tantamount of parallelism of incandescence..necessitous (was) breathed the
Lips of a Black Butterfly
About the Creator
Kevin Miles
"I only live to make God famous".
I craft “Accidental” masterpieces.
Screenwriter
Words were fed to me through the umbilical chord...
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More stories from Kevin Miles and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Singer So Shy
She stood near the cold fireplace, watching the second-hand tick down to the hour. In another minute, the clock's bird would emerge and warble the hour. She reached up and touched the clock, tracing the gentle slope of the farmhouse roof, then trailing down the lilac strewn side, to the white fence framed dooryard. She wished she was there, where the air would smell of lilacs rather than smoke.
By Judah LoVato7 days ago in Fiction
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