Flickr Friday
- Words
- Caroline Kurze
Analog – Remorse squats at the rim of the glass, like washed up residue of the night. Drowned, sticky-silently in Sambuca, where sweet lies scratch the gorge, ere having dripped out of the mouth, bitter in its aftertaste. In your ear they fan out like mayflies on the window, while wind pushed the hair out of your brow.
+ Read MoreText by Anna Töws
Image © Mike Stacey
Image © Anna Morosini
Image © Franziska Ebert
Image © Tomás Gianelli
Image © Tony Katai
Image © Ting Cheng
Image © Leo Berne
Image © Rumano Power
