This short collection of poems was made for leisure reading with
coffee in the right light. Chronicling the palpitations of the
heart separated from its object by many miles, it toes the line
between creativity and futility, and being hopelessly enamored with
language and literature. It aims to toy with the strings of the
heart and remind the reader that longing is the low pitch of a
sensuous song; without it, the choir of the breast sings out of
tune.
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