sometimes i go looking for a new siren to occupy the vacant space of the warehouses of my heart. i'm looking for that new voice. the siren that will call the monsters back to sea, the muse that will make a song olympian and a verse that would make proust turn.
sometimes you have to think grand, not the grand of louis but the grand of elvis. and so sometimes you end up with gazpacho when you meant marinara; on either of the wrong end of the pomme d'amour spectrum.
oh well, sometimes it is just sauce...
No comments:
Post a Comment