Andreiomatic

I stare at the eye of the midnight flame till it dawns as the rising sun; watch wax drip tiers of molten waves with flow of noonday tides. In snuffed wick’s trailing tendrils, I drift lengths of advancing frontiers outlines of far lands sleeping under tender lids of night pondering the weight of times unseen that cross this desert existence, dismantling hazy borders between together and apart. - Kate Burnside

Tastes like waffles.

Some days are clouded like dazzled flying girafes.

Are we to venture out into space?

Sometimes my head turns into a balloon and flies away.