Running together in the fields, grass green and flowers red, the day awash with brightness.
The touch of his fingers along the curve of her waist, feathers descending gently on her skin, a rolling field of soft long grass, bending before the soft warmth of the wind.
When I’m not a poet, novelist, or writer of short stories, I’m a writer of creative non-fiction exploring Self, Food, Society and History. www.mosheforman.com