55 years old. Salt has kicked the ass of pepper in my beard. But I have earned every wrinkle, scar, laugh line, and bit of ink my skin displays. Former fighter --would rather be a lover. Scribbler of ideas. Occasionally, a scribbler of verse as well, or one who attempts it. Survivor of a 29-year-long shipwreck, but I am on the other side at last. Romantic. Flirt. And above all, hopeful.
Black coffee, red wine, red roses, neat whiskey, and Oxford commas.
"And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears..."
-W.B. Yeats
"The Stolen Child"
Location
Tir TairngireGender
Male