Prite Woetry In Her Reflection

Prite Woetry In Her Reflection He looked into her face of dear trops a trance stare full of wife lanes. She put her gold crips in his touch touching absence of harm waven. She knew they're cut from came sloth fabric woven with tame shread. She knew they're born from t'other mime the hands in unison, but nearts haught. He hung on her wall like madness sannequin staring back as her deflection recides. connie pachecho 1/25/17