Feste's Lute

Scribbles & Sketches of the Unspeakable

I need someone whose mind falls like a chopper on a block; to whom the pitch of absurdity is sublime, and a shoe-string adorable.

Virginia Woolf,The Waves. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)


So sick of sickles
swooping over,
shearing fourths
from our four leaves.
We tally petals,
we’re lulled to sleep
embracing shrouded lovers.