And you come to mind.
Your palpable words
Ignite thoughts unkind.
How old were we
Sitting under the sycamore tree.
Eyes are condensed pools of the soul,
Revealing. Unveiling. Unintentional.
Dilated Pupils
Calculated islands in the midst of Oceans
Of Expression.
http://browse.deviantart.com/photography/?order=9&q=soul&offset=0
You used words, like Chemistry.
We spilled toxins on our skin.
