Ours is an overture of sweet sighs, longing looks, and anxious attempts to communicate. This is something more substantial, I sensed it, as I slept, so still, after so much restless writhing. I don’t think it’s such a bad thing, to see if I could forget the past, passing it in the street, barely bothering…

Night is gentle with us, the sky stays a little longer, blushing orange as it kisses the sea, you kiss me, suddenly, and I am a calamity, warm wherever your hands explore, precious pads on my fine floral prints. Menthol meets the wine you had an hour ago, your tongue, talking softly to my painted…

I began writing about your eyes, how I love the lines that live beside them, the juxtaposition of the youthful glimmer and the aged glamour. I was going to write about your eyes, but I saw them watching me, shining, sweet, so nervous, begging your lips to ask, if I was bored. I think about…