I am the Rambler Woman.
A poetic ramble.

Photo by Sander Weeteling on Unsplash

That last burst of light, before the drop of the sun below the horizon line. That one last kiss, before death. And yet, to meet death as friends, and not adversaries, Is half the battle. Why must I suffer, in order to create greatly over emotional poetry? My puddles have become Oceans of tears.

Everything explodes before it implodes. There must be a release. That’s why after a man cums, he…