Icarus's blog: "Augurs, Martyrs, and Agnostics"

Ecstatic.
That's one word for it.
Only I flinched and held myself the first time.
I hope I broke something.

Scars are stronger.
I don't know the rules on knitting.

Another midnight.
A long transition into there and not.

More with each passing year.
None so much as the first.

With rolling gentility like wind over the foothills
colors of threshed wheat in sunshine, and quenched leaves
And an insistent unwavering conviction to "no".

Perhaps that's why I now prefer brunettes.
I never once claimed to be a gentleman.