The Heart The Heart The Heart How

Lovers May Come And Go, There Was The Memory Of Blood, The Low Call.

The Whole White World Is Ours.

You Will Not See That Desire Begets Love, Until It All Flames Into One Concise And Metallic Blaze.

The Stallion And His Mare, Unbridled, With Arrow-pattern, Are Worked On. The Blue Cloth Before The Door Of Religion And Inspiration.

No One Knows The Colour Of A Flower Till It Is Broken.