The hidden library.

& Her smile is like an old bookshelf after rolling out

her tongue scroll. Buried words clustering as roes.

I enjoyed eggs while I grew, hotly like tears every

flow from the son bagged in her. When his canal

went still, her body was the blanket. The end

succeeds the beginning. In the middle hung his star

to the sky. The night she was robbed,

death came reading with her loneliness.