The first sound I can remember hearing, a sound so pristinely embedded in my memory, the one that concocts the framework of my senses, the carnal inertia of my illiquid reality;
the uncorking of a bottle.
The echos playing with the vulgar aria that had been uncaged as it bounced around forgotten corners, flowing gracefully through the marbled hallways of my childhood.
Crimson Bacchanal; life's blood.
No comments:
Post a Comment