The Somnambule's Crime
A Single Evanescence Badly Explained
Due To Time Pressures
The sun in that impossible voice whispered paper corsages down a stream broken by the sound of little bells which ring for iced whiskey. Another (smaller) bell rings for mulled wine. Another (very small) cherry-colored swan-bell on an ocean liner off Vienna rings. Once. And so it remains difficult to play a guitar with a pair of blue rubber gloves. But I try because I love you. Once.