All posts by graceokogwu

most times i feel like shouting at the top of my voice from a rooftop but i write instead

sans titre4

A French chanson, to drown the misery. Wine in glass, spaarkling pupils. Diced tumeric, a slice of garlic. Sharp lemons, and apple fritter. Strong parfum, strips of roses. Satin sheets, rumpled clothings. Terracotta skin, roots of stretchmarks. Silver moans, and bodies entwine. g.o. www.gracieamnut.blogspot.com