We fell asleep as lovers do, listening to the raindrops pitter-patter on the old tin roof, hands entwined and souls secretly smiling.
I never understood desire until i felt your hands around my throat.
She had a habit of walking around in white cotton panties and writing poetry on the back of crumpled envelopes.
A mind possessed by unmade books.
I could taste the salt on her lips, each kiss like a summer wave breaking on an empty beach.
words are strange creatures
I spend most nights at home falling in love with the idea of you.
A mind possessed by unmade books, unwritten lines on empty hooks.
