xenastar Posted April 8, 2012 Share Posted April 8, 2012 When I part the curtains, her indigo jeans still hang on the clothesline, legs spread as I remember her last evening. We listened to Mozart and drank red wine. Later, sprawled over the bed, I played with her, with that soft part of her that I can't say. Can't name. Speech is not everything. Confined in silence, yet could I there speak my piece in tongues Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Recommended Posts
Join the conversation
You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.
Note: Your post will require moderator approval before it will be visible.