The Dark Angels are a come and go crew. They create then disappear like street art. Their works exist in fragments, particles that float, dust motes that spin before the wind that blows them to faraway places. They are individuals that work as one. Deep as oceans, as impenetrable as the night. Art urchins and poets, they dissolve before they form. They are the Dark Angels, they are discharge. They are a bloody mouthful.
3 comments:
I did contain myself. I have extended, but hatefully smaller. I used due fact throughout. But, I was not naked, nor playing with courtesy. He loves me. I love him back. All night, I am grazing the table and chatting. Earlier, but for no good reason, I suggested some privacy.
Helena x
;)
lol!
Ha ha x
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