Jan 29
Gone with the Sun, I was left with the trees
Trying to count all the birds and the bees
One tree showed me your breasts gone with the breeze
A short one revealed the top of your knees
I could trace your buttocks on a…
In décor, a song intensifies a moment. Imagination connects to it, unleashing deeply emotions. Everything is inciting. Lips of inspiration kiss the words. Poetic Essences spread ’em out. A velvety aroma pulsates chic for those who explore Flash Fiction, — Un P’tit Je Ne Sais Quoi
A medical writer who reads & writes fiction & some nonfiction, although the latter may appear at times like the former. https://patrick-m-ohana.anthi-and-m.com
