the flame upon the tip of a cigarette fuels the sweet sorrow of smoke…a gossamer wrapping and weaving its way upon ones’ intrinsic thoughts…compelling ideas played upon a table like cards…an ace high upon your queen…looking into the distance of wisps against the silhouette of the moon…shrouded in a darkness that seems to be expansive against all horizons...brilliant and methodical it seems…dripping with the envy held against the stars…broadening the depths of the heavens and screaming the names of the lost across a listless sky…upon the depths of ones soul a glimmer of such can be seen…it can be sought…only to beheld another…

CoffeeHouse Fall Party

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