Hyperion Sturm and Rene Hunter …
Thank you Dan, it was a pleasure writing with you.
The very essence of romance is uncertainty.
The sad cafe iv
A Love Story by Holly Hunter and Hyperion Sturm
She Doesn’t Speak French By Holly Hunter On sleepless nights I stroll the left bank in black sequined heels My eyelids are heavy with smoky glitter. Among the art I find you your essence pierces my veins settles in the pool of my heart soft lights flicker their last warning in the sad cafe where like willows, we sway to long-forgotten love songs then you are gone, a Modigliani reclining, never hearing Je t’aime, the only French I know.
Five Years Earlier
Autumn leaves have begun to fall. Late October, London is ablaze in hues of orange and purple. On my bench, by the river, I daydream that I am an adolescent reptile escaped from Kafka’s Die Verwanlung, laid back…
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