02-07-2011, 10:02 AM
two circles of meat slowly cook on the grill,
as an egg, like a flower, grows colour above.
now I've buttered the buns, my poor heart cries ill,
though my mind fairly shimmers with love.
as an egg, like a flower, grows colour above.
now I've buttered the buns, my poor heart cries ill,
though my mind fairly shimmers with love.
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe