In these times of haze, where could one hide? People, in general, are struggling to “see” each other despite all…
breathe into my body, whistler,drink from my crooked well,radiate my skinsticky sweet salted,air my superstitions,
Lincolnshire, September 4th, 1533
I trail my fingers through the waterlet it slip away, enclosing and giving waya…
Raindrops on rose skins, your breath in mine…Your fingers,they tickle,as they tracedown my spine.
Moonlit starry skyabove our headstwinkling andshimmering.Rhythmic waveskissing our feetfrothing andbubbling. Your…
It’s morningI’ll take my coffee nowCream with a little sugar Straight off your lips