Loneliness rests in the nook of Eve’s arm. It is the crease opposing our elbow, the indentation which evaporates before our covered identifiers. Pupils are cloaked and uncloaked for amusements sake, like gigantic lustrous holy movie screens; palettes of projected immortality. The red velvet curtain ruffles up, momentarily faking existence before unfurling with smooth graceful…

This content is for Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription, Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription and Basic Member members.
Log In Register
%d bloggers like this: