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Slope headed brute, knuckle dragger, a club over one crooked shoulder, slow as a Tortoise observed by Darwin yet quick as a jetfighter. Such is the sad reality of nature.
Category Poetry / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 50 x 50px
File Size 808 B
A chance meeting on a foggy street, a stranger who's face I can't see.
"Do I know you?" I say. For though I cannot see his visage there's something...
"Maybe," is the reply. The shadows beneath the cowl are strangely compelling, invite a search, yet the darkness there is frightening too.
I realize too late I'm looking at a mirror.
"Do I know you?" I say. For though I cannot see his visage there's something...
"Maybe," is the reply. The shadows beneath the cowl are strangely compelling, invite a search, yet the darkness there is frightening too.
I realize too late I'm looking at a mirror.
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