Then I grew up, and the beauty of succulent illusions fell away from me.
Beware the artist who's an intellectual also. The artist who doesn't fit.
You are mine-you know you're mine!" he cried wildly...the moonlight twisted in through the vines and listened...the fireflies hung upon their whispers as if to win his glance from the glory of their eyes.
that voice was a deathless song.
A squalid phantasmagoria of breath
Cut out all these exclamation points. An exclamation point is like laughing at your own joke.