(Untitled)

[atmonsacurse]

There's this precocious little snow flake on my shoulder
pushing me around with the wind
and pummeling me with precipitation
a volley of intentions
there to carry me away.
foreign are the shivers that are intended
but not the goose bumps felt
the familiar look love showed
down her torso, on her skin
in our bed.

Comments

[anonymous]

our bed?

love,
mouse

[atmonsacurse]

ofcourse.