face

  • That We Call Face

    That We Call Face

    it clings helplessly to the skull like an overripe fruit ready to drop on the forest floor or perhaps a child’s play-sticker, loosely gripping blood and what-have-yous.   it never really reveals itself; it only shows its smoothness and curves or some clandestine scars here and there. it parades its flaws or its enchanting beauties, Continue reading