My Lover is a HouseMy lover is a house: four sturdy walls to keep out the night, a foundation to stand my feet upon, a door to enter, or to exit, and windows to see the world.My Lover is a House
I have not always been so lucky to live in such a house.
My lover was a house with four sturdy walls each painted and adorned. A foundation marbled, cool and lovely but my lover had a roof so small I had to stoop to stand. My lover was a house
with a door to enter, and then exit.
My lover was a house
with no walls, open and unenf
Memoirs pt IIII didn't know what to say to you, really. So I said nothing. I pulled your head to my lap, and stroked that beautiful hair until you relaxed. We sat for an hour or more, just like that, staring into the fire and the woods behind, fingers running through rough silk and a wet cheek pillowed softly on my thigh. Finally, you sat up, and tried to thank me. Pulling my head to your shoulder, we switched places. You kissed my forehead softly, then my lips. We fell back softly into the leaves, caressing and making love next to the fire.Memoirs pt III
I felt so womanly. I was a mother, a lover. You were the child, tender and warm. I must have glowed in
| Hi, my name is PaleSister and I'm a recreational writer and sometimes artist. I am, however, a full-time enjoyer of art in many forms. Thanks for letting me be a part of this. |
Drunk
Artistic
--
A photograph is a secret about a secret. The more it tells you the less you know. (diane arbus)
--
ConceptArt.org Photography Mob
Wii: 8509-8985-6106-3530 Note me if you add.
--
Es mejor morir de pie de que vivir de rodillias
Previous PageNext Page