When the Secret Hour of Pleasure Nears
The Poetry of T.S. Simmons
Romance, Erotica, Erotic Photography, Fiction & Literature, Poetry
| Author: | T.S. Simmons | ISBN: | 9781462009770 |
| Publisher: | iUniverse | Publication: | June 14, 2011 |
| Imprint: | iUniverse | Language: | English |
| Author: | T.S. Simmons |
| ISBN: | 9781462009770 |
| Publisher: | iUniverse |
| Publication: | June 14, 2011 |
| Imprint: | iUniverse |
| Language: | English |
When the Secret Hour of Pleasure Nears is a collection of poetry by T.S. Simmons. The stunning photography of Cameron MacMaster adds a unique visual dimension to the rawness of the text. The themes of love, death, sex and the isolation of insanity, resonate throughout this unique volume. It is within your hands. Can you feel it? You hear the city scream within your eardrums somewhere beyond the fragile exterior. You wish you couldnt hear it at all. Drunken nighthawk. Sitting alone in some dusty all night caf. The half-lit neon sign is wet with rain. That only adds to the emptiness. Doesnt it? Do you ever feel so alone that it becomes a kind of strangeness? You wear that strangeness like a coat. So worn that its familiar. The searing isolation. The creeping thoughts of life as art, sex, and death. The endless search for passion. Its all here. Remember, I said it was within your hands. It is meant to be read inside that sad caf. Unfold the pages, stained with sweat and time, and find yourself
When the Secret Hour of Pleasure Nears is a collection of poetry by T.S. Simmons. The stunning photography of Cameron MacMaster adds a unique visual dimension to the rawness of the text. The themes of love, death, sex and the isolation of insanity, resonate throughout this unique volume. It is within your hands. Can you feel it? You hear the city scream within your eardrums somewhere beyond the fragile exterior. You wish you couldnt hear it at all. Drunken nighthawk. Sitting alone in some dusty all night caf. The half-lit neon sign is wet with rain. That only adds to the emptiness. Doesnt it? Do you ever feel so alone that it becomes a kind of strangeness? You wear that strangeness like a coat. So worn that its familiar. The searing isolation. The creeping thoughts of life as art, sex, and death. The endless search for passion. Its all here. Remember, I said it was within your hands. It is meant to be read inside that sad caf. Unfold the pages, stained with sweat and time, and find yourself
