searching for the lost lullabies.. aLone A gaiN.

The barbarian is dead, his surplus empty.
Anya taps the praxis & mutters under her breath, "what a fucked up landing!"
The beach is riddled with pieces of the ship's, softpearl, & coined cuts (more charms for the giant's tourniquet). I'll bury his memoir in the smeary pine rambling of some forest.
Under the hot sun / her hair / dazzling / down / over / her / torn / camisole // apocalyptic orchid ---- painted dove.. This time you must keep your heart!