You with the sparkle and the snorts. You magical, hooved and single horned. You with those tender stormy rooms inside. You with those bent clockwork pieces. Those self professed broken parts that to my adoring gaze are the sacred structures of your hidden heart. Your most beautiful parts. I am your catehdral shaper, the stained glass painter. He who loves you irrevocably for reasons that the mind must no longer own.
The Shape of Cathedrals
·71 words·1 min