Amateur astronomer in his eighties looks through his telescope, night after night searching for a comet.
Refracted twisted and formless. Unreliable constants.
Oaths rescinded. Bewildered by clashing chorus of colour the infinite forced to be finite. Colours billow and burst.
Stars reforming dark matter that time has forgotten. Eternal relationships, immortal beloved.
Spots dance through optic nerves. Blinded by blind spots. Firma terra treading barefoot the last time she appeared boiling. Arcs that grace limitless worlds.
We wait. We search. We search our souls to save them. Opalescence, beacons of joy to enrapture the loins of aged Homo. Take your pleasure where you can.
Heaven will not give up the prize – you spied her naked frame and felt ashamed. You did not look away you were stimulated. Love desired but never attained.
Stroke of two you clock her delicate mass rupture the sky. Nights of labour ended. Flaming white and enshrouded. Eyes dulled tasting the sky. Embracing the gaseous void and announcing the new age.
Wild Chamber (Bryant and May) by Christopher Fowler - Review by The Mole After a few historic events, setting what will become background to the next case, we are treated to a letter from Raymond Land (the he...
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