Paschendale slippers dank and hide frocks – trembled while the pillions slipped away and shook the foreright. Never the manacled shapes dressed over hand and arm, crushing yet sallow beneath the umber moon cheek. We pried the dart from the cinder teeth, a waking crow for yesterday in clock or collared fames.
Striped on tenterhooks, baled on spiral ridgeways, the head of locks and pools in judgement bright; clear and sharp the fastened door breaks through the morning layers to bury the heap before the bed can move.
Every working day I create an OOM, to show some of my unapologetic fascination for the OOMlich. ofourmaker.com