our feet are grape-squashed in memories our skins are still flushed from the touch of summer’s lips.
A touch, a tear, a tempestI breathe in...the silence of my own heart aching with tenderness with memories.. Of home.
A touch, a tear, a tempestmy love is a winter’s mist gently dissolving through the window at the nape of your neck.
A touch, a tear, a tempestkisses happen when my morning blueberry muffin sails slowly upon my savoring tongue.
A touch, a tear, a tempest