Heart mine, art mine, whose embraces Clasp but wind that past thee bloweth E’en this air so subtly gloweth, Guerdoned by thy sun-gold traces, That my heart is half afraid For the fragrance on him laid; Even so love’s might amazes!
“Time isn’t made of anything. It is an abstraction. Just a meaning that we impose upon motion.”
Anne Carson
INSTAGRAM
BANDCAMP
YOUTUBE