The stars always wrap themselves around the face of the moon, cupping it like a tender hand.
When the door of the house blew off in the storm, its frame took on the shape of its absence and awoke every morning with a mouth full of sorrow.
The stars always wrap themselves around the face of the moon, cupping it like a tender hand.
When the door of the house blew off in the storm, its frame took on the shape of its absence and awoke every morning with a mouth full of sorrow.