Only my irrational need to sense, sensibility and sentences. Slim moments of beauty. Grasping all of them. For those who take pleasure from flesh, pleasures of flesh really so rare, though we seek it constantly to have seconds of thrill. Hold it, keep it, till it has passed so quickly. Another one and another, like drops of something to drink dripping. Something has gone waste, the most of it.
Portrait of a missing, pencil on paper, 2015