Immortal Spaniel
The world bloomed red in small startling places and she searched for the sear and pucker of the color in the dead of winter.
This House
my love, he prefers the corner of the room, his feet upon the footstool. my sticks they knit and click. he smiles upon the rhythm and frowns upon the faults. the corner of the room is wooden and plain and the footstool a mere iron thing. we sit in silence …