tajennings's profile

When the waters of eventide have slithered from the fringe of Amelia, and revealed the maze of rivulet and marsh, let the trickle of moonfall through tangled oak and pine steer the furtherance of lip and tremble between the muddy banks of desire. Harbor no attempt to hide the hiccup of your hips from the run of my hands or the melt of your eyes from the swelter of my glance, for your breath’s struggle to stay afloat in the riptide of my kiss leaves any doubt of your love to wash ashore. Dawn ...

Tonight, the low- country crescent moon, made shade of blue by August cloud, dangles dreary, angled as if to frown farewell. No perfumed purl of jasmine-woven wind performs to hear the palmettos applaud, nor sweeps through swamp and street with tendrils of magnolia and pine. Across the harbor, homes, hushed by the repose of lamplight on the Battery, fade into the freckled face of gentle water. Charleston, my muse, she sheds a tear as I drain my glass and lean to kiss her goodnight. Off Sulliv...

When the waters of eventide have slithered from the fringe of Amelia, and revealed the maze of rivulet and marsh, let the trickle of moonfall through tangled oak and pine steer the furtherance of lip and tremble between the muddy banks of desire. Harbor no attempt to hide the hiccup of your hips from the run of my hands or the melt of your eyes from the swelter of my glance, for your breath’s struggle to stay afloat in the riptide of my kiss leaves any doubt of your love to wash ashore. Dawn ...

If Fibonacci were to formulate a constant of proportionality between the indigo and antimony from which her eyes derive their color, his algorithm would produce a ratio of divine properties. But even in his genius, the acute mathematician would fail. His calculating glance would unravel before the balance of her architecture, and the limits of his ability would be those of an unlearned poet who constructs an allegory out of rational numbers, but does not possess the perspective to predict the...