artists life

From Without The Boudoir

And the door opened to a darkness all too familiar as it were the very same pitch as would greet me any other such evening. And tonight with muted olive painted walls and mahogany furniture lining the hallway I should have felt calmly enough-- aye-but...

From Without The Boudoir

The Language of Clocks

"A magical ritual which required as many seconds as salt crystals and grains of brown sugar; as many hours as pieces of garlic. And Denisa and the Gears turned a song as the brisket brined and marinated away..."

The Language of Clocks

Winter

"She sees him bow his smiling craggy face down so his lobe meets her lips. The way he does this- one would think he is smaller than her..."

Winter