THE ANAKIM CAN DIE by Peter M. Paul lay on his back wrapped in his sleeping bag, the hood pulled tight until it all but covered his face. The tip of his nose was cold, but it troubled him not. His eyes were filled with the wonders of the heavens. The all encompassing ring of standing stones stood around them; comforting in their silent protection. Paul smiled at his friends, he knew the stars were suns like the one that shone down on them daily, but tonight he .

I inhale you each time my lungs fill. And you nourish every cell of my beingeven when you take my breath away. You dance through my mind. I long for you constantly.

Blogging My Way to a Better Life. I remember being in the front row during one of his Controversy concerts.

I almost feel guilty for having this dream, like I should apologize to him and his wife. Whatever girl, thought we were better than that. Bye! Joyce, can you get Mr. Watts on the line, please? Hey Devon come on in have a seat.