Ramblings of a reclusive drifter

The winterline spills embers  Across the horizon. She soaks up the colour; doe eyes reflecting  The dying sun. I cling to that moment, unwilling to accept The transition. So evanescent; like the light in her eyes, It doesn't last.

  Is Simple Yet effective, Much like his Prose. The Barrel in Your Mouth And the Big Toe On The Trigger. Then, a Coppery Aftertaste Filling you Up Completely.