“Write what you want bottemless from bottom of the mind”
Looking on him sleeping sweetly–angelic quiet in the soundless time after outrageous triumph–more like a Lost Boy than The Pan–dream breathing and serene. He is lush to look at. Power in repose–and yet he will never know what hell I wage against myself. One day he will go. But for now he is mine–and so with that I gently kiss his nose.