in a dream-like state, arturo mendoza laid out on a beach towel atop the sandy shores, a joint assembly of stars delicately pressing against his eyelids - in actuality that'd only begun in the midst of his unconscious reverie, as he actually had vehement daylight beaming down on him. he'd drifted off to sleep the night before, where memory past that eluded him. his drowsy gaze flit around his surroundings, and the lingering tinge of sangria on his tongue hit him right as a splash of water did. poetry i © elysianblu
26 parts