writing for healing
His mind was a museum which she wanted to inhabit to rest for a while. His hands were like a full locket hanging from her chest through the night.
By sweet temper4 years ago in Poets
She drinks old coffee, And tends to forget about the dishes often. She likes to wait on the laundry, And always treads with caution.
A warm hug. A safe love. Without fear. Strong and clear. The summer sun kissed her petite frame, as she swayed back and forth on that thinking swing.
