The scent fills the air like a thick fog, Sunlight filters down to the ground, Particles gently float in and out of view, The spice surrounds as they pound,

The Count

I’m one of the most famous Counts of the area, I’m Known from Romania to far off Bavaria, Transylvania is where I call my true home, In my family’s castle corridors I usually roam,

It Came Home

Droplets of sweat absorbed by a sodden shirt, Not evaporating in the dry pressing heat, The light scorches everything it lays it’s gaze on, In the arid world of a final penalty defeat.

The Last Diner

Old white crumbling foam under black leather, Unashamedly peeking out of the years’ old rips, Surrounded by the whitewashed stuccoed walls, Darkened by recesses forgotten by the neon strips,


Sunlight shafts through the sooty towers, Nourishing the grateful green grass, Noises float on the cool summer breeze, Over the wildlife corridor it’ll pass,