undulating Death of a Rose thin slips of paper crested into warmth, handed freely to those with matches, store them in your fridge until they expire, love is abandoned and tired, you only want sensations, where did the old fashioned values incinerate? mired in front of you, staring at me with disdain and grinning as i sink. peer into the present and make guesses, unbalanced like aphrodite undulating 031127 what's it to you? who go blather from