Writer. Wordsmith. Poet. Obsessed with all things hedgehog. The beauty of the story is in the journey, not the arrival.
I smiled with a breezy what can you do faultline to my mouth,
and laughed and walked away,
as if I had a purpose and those words weren’t important,
I lie back to watch the clouds,
and listen to the grass sigh under me as it slumps,
forming to my languor,
and I pretend I am a chalk outline ready to be filled with colors and shapes