February 2011
39 posts
the transcendental modernist: What lips my lips... →
thetranscendentalmodernist:
- by Edna St. Vincent Millay
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply, And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain For…
To bury a dear one is to bury a piece of yourself
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