“What’s your name?”

“Give me one.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s quite simple.”

She had finished procuring sun for the day. There was an incongruency in the lighting, a silhouette…

Original Sin

I’ve got soul-stained walls,

painted by stainless-steel honesty.

I don’t get skirmish anymore.

What is truly yours,

the beating pen of bleeding hands?

We met as infant souls in a world of aged ones. The sound of her laughter lay tribute to creation, I identified it as a signature of her creator. As was true for all newborn things, she resonated a light. I theorize that is how we came to acquaint. We gave off the same light; we operated at the same…