Poems from laulevi215

I slip my hand into a new glove, No, not mitten. Glove.   Mittens are soft,  Clouds for the hands,  To fade,  Slowly, into a plush foreign...
      Me, myself, and I, a guise. Her, him, they, and we, a guise.   Influence plagues the mind. Primitive purity heavily veiled by a guise...