Sea salt beneathyour running feet.Sand splasheson your mulled lips.
The Fastreader came into Wixom Station roughly twice a week. Hope didn’t know how long he’d been coming in when she really saw him…
Full moon darkness,short cotton skirt,wool tasty cherry,black amber coat and jeans,our paths cross in the lit square.
Satanic cufflinksas docked in a white cloudover a blue sea.
Pain, the choice, the route,over prideful solitude,cleavage candor.