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After Heaven

After Heaven® and jail and the flute player's musing black-clad skin-bright girls whisk'd graphite-cool and titanium-tight when night turned no more moon-burned tears to diamond-light sun sunk broke under science and hope and then she spoke rushing ashtray and empty glass away staining perfection with her golden fears tareing me in another useless abusing

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Robert Warlov

Date: 10/15/2016 8:08:00 PM

Heaven® was a cigar-bar here at the millennium's turn and yes, for a short period of time, I was jailed. The flute-player played in the Jazz-club upstairs and yes, my heart was broken. Heaven's black-clad girls were spectacular, but not kind. Imagine what she said.