Four writers for the price of one blog
A long drive home in a winter’s snowstorm. Her talking is as varied as the snow on the windshield. Her words collect and scatter.There are glimpses in the windows of houses we pass by. How lightly she visits. We come to our own. She won’t be stopped. Even as I undress her. Even as I open her legs under me. But just a kiss before I descend.
····by inch her words shorter and
Redbud | December 29 2016