Lydia Hunt PoetryIt could be woah gloriousalbeit cramped if I lived in that part inside of youJun 7, 2015Jun 7, 2015
Lydia Hunt Poetry1.She was still on the street by the time/ he looked out his window/ he could see the blonde of her hair made whiter by the snow that had…Jun 7, 2015Jun 7, 2015
Lydia Hunt PoetryLooking like someone god has touched the life ofMe pretending to dozeJun 7, 2015Jun 7, 2015
Lydia Hunt PoetryWhat in water did Bloom, waterlover, drawer of water, watercarrier, returning to the range, admire?feel entirely the aliveness of the ocean touch youJun 7, 2015Jun 7, 2015
Lydia Hunt PoetryYour smell is more real than mineyes it’s the smell of India or ArmaniJun 7, 2015Jun 7, 2015
Lydia Hunt PoetryNo you are not just imagining itAnytime she handed him his breakfast he would sayJun 7, 2015Jun 7, 2015