to my love, to my greed,
whos brown eyes kissed her morning with the wondering sence of time-
suppossing the hands stopped to at their very least-
let us sleep and not be swayed and carried by their lust for youth and our contempt for old age-peace child, for you are blooming under our cold grey sun.
but i saw her shine today and smile on you.-by matt watts, about sarah mar 29, 2008
