On the roof, in tune
The rain and wind play a folk song
***
As old as time
***
To wake up at dawn on a pink bed
No rush, just lay, to be you and me
***
Slow time
***
My name on your lips
My lips on your skin
Your hand in my hair
Your love safe in my hand
***
To the end of time
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About the Creator
The Dangling Bead
My life is splashing before my eyes, as I precariously suspend and prepare for the end, the consumption of my Self and identity. I know that gravity will be the victor in this struggle. Like a pendant, slipping from the chain, the tension has caught me in this moment, bestowing one last gift of reflection. I cling desperately, questioning my purpose. Searching for comfort. And I remember…
By Leslie Staven6 days ago in Fiction
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