Paragraphs IV

The Scent of Visions

I dreamt again, and again my soma was defined exquisitely, attuned to every endearing notion, every haunting caress.

I know it was in the wee hours, just as the sun began to filter through my thoughts, particles that dilated the irises of my eyes, and were caught in the headlights, between the synopsis of euphonia and the analogy of probability

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R Tsambounieri Talarantas

R Tsambounieri Talarantas

In my spare time, I’ll be found at my favorite writing spot— where death surely cannot miss me. I’ve been censored... I do not tell—all.