There’s a hunger to bottle up the diesel fumes and gumbo-caked dozer tracks of home. There’s a desire to frame the fan of past lovers’ eyelashes and soap soaked skin. There’s a longing to capture harvest moons and river rock and dragonfly wings. There’s an ache…within me, to leave a mark somewhere, among the daily pockets of my life, in heart-bled-ink.
I don’t know if I possess any magic but I do know I’ll tend this flame as if these walls were night-infested forest and the frost of monotony were moaning between the branches. I refuse to settle for ashes.