Her name was foreign Upon the tip of my pen Where once it had been fluid. It wasn’t that I had forgotten her, but that I had forgotten to remember her. His voice carries an authority, An air of confidence spiced with pipe tobacco
Her name was foreign Upon the tip of my pen Where once it had been fluid. It wasn’t that I had forgotten her, but that I had forgotten to remember her. His voice carries an authority, An air of confidence spiced with pipe tobacco
Elizabeth Cook 