Traffic sounds clash with my thoughts but I don't mind them at all. Heard the carpet thud with his steps and the rush of heat to my cheeks, when on my lips I felt his coffee warm
b r e a t h s.
YOU ARE READING
Glass prints.
Poetrytold me to swirl, let the air circle my waist and mold my legs. reach the ceiling, jump and flex. told him to slide on dust, extend his hands, my fingertips grasp. look into my pupils, watch the sunrise fall to dusk.
