I was breath
and then the memory
of something without name
the taste of warmth
orchid made to bloom
clawing from a bed of rock
tangled up in weed
for the taking
a lingering perfume
. . .
Starry-eyed Writer, Cautious Philosopher, Hopeful Romantic
A daily selection of the best content published on WordPress, collected for you by humans who love to read.
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