Whereby: The scent of your breath love dances like a butterfly. Drenched in your raining desire lush spring awaits. Yearnings whispered vigorously. The sun kissed golden season’s ancient story filled with certainty and uncertainty. Every word I utter reflects you.
Autumn is our conscience. Vast expanse of blue sky nurses it, white clouds occasionally cover it up, cool air quickly cleans the blockade. Autumn is short lived. It wears peaceful colors. Monk like contemplation wraps it up by logic and
That vibration has come again if I were a car a driver might say there’s an issue with the spark or with the compression because judging from the size of my tank there’s plenty of fuel I’m suffering from disjointed
somewhere out on the island after a bitter flight one of those roads where they let the timber stand stuck to the blind undulations in the landscape peaks and troughs more or less permanent just an empty place for wildlife