A handsome 12-page full-color booklet with lyrics, featuring photography by Annika. Comes in a clear jewel case. Design by Douglas Boatwright. Limited amount remaining.
Includes unlimited streaming of With Leak, Blink, & Breath
via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
I'll eat nothing of this, it's in my blood because I've not been vaccinated for hi-fi love. Armor for this catching skin because your fingers they are contagious. my ribs, my waves, my words, my tide. But just in Texas there's a sorry and a space suit for a soldier who doesn't want to breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, BREATHE. My ribs, my waves, my words, my tide. Love grafts on these trees. My tick-tock mechanics heart the metal sparks could not ignite. A little happier, a little frostbite in my mascara. I could not stop or begin again. I could not seal my lips. I could not smooth the sea. Contagious. My ribs, my waves, my words, my tide. A little happier. I thought I kissed a pair of wings. A pair of wings.
(All at six, all of a square, all from a roof encompass me, awash and affix my hair with all the confessed adornments of your throat. Fist in hand, bring me under your deadly locks. Chewed up and caressed I'm time for moths. Quiet my voice, tremble my fingers, tremble, a treble yearning and grasping amongst these teeth. Every single one. Lest we forget. A moon-stroke. That's all. In an eye of the biggest circle. I saw and was a star. A flip-switch switch top vacillation role-reversal makes me into here and there and back again. The finest of delicate and muted lines I thought I kissed a pair of wings. No lips equal to this butter-lion-fly. I don't ever want to consume again. Born and Borne again of a scratch and a sound I know is resonating within your chest. I'm searching for this echo in my ribs. All my air smells like honey and your skin. Eating the seeds to conceal them in your tummy. Nothing can grow through such thick skin. A taste, I wouldn't start, continuation nil, what's over nearly happened retrospectively. I'll soon have miles of fabric if this pattern holds its threads. I am a needle of insistent flight. This is right now, she says. I married him for all his masquerade. I trusted an aphoniac. I wanted talk like narcolepsy. He spoke of pyrophobia and I now believe this was his incapacitation, not a fleeting or a flickering stranger. Wobble wobble, indeed. I can't bear these blisters any more than a distance or a lying nod. I'm trafficked and forgotten. Could you be more like cartilage? Bend, a way to implore, I encourage it, bend. I can feel you like cancer in my wanting cells. I desire of you osmosis. All I wanted, to plug this nightmare vacuum with a tear. Taste the self in this constellation. I've tried so many ways of lying down. The finest of delicate and muted lines. I thought I kissed a pair of wings. No lips equal to this butter-lion-fly. The water holds better than arms. It holds forever.)
Magnificent new work by super-talented harpist/composer, my friend & yours, Mary Lattimore! Spooky & sublime, soothing and a little bit sinister. Annika Bentley
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