desert love

When the nightingale sleeps, she wanders over a shifting desert, her bare feet in a moving embrace before, burning hot, the sand won't release. She falls, her face kissed by golden grains that she breathes in with forced affection until her lungs are full of love.

longing has overstayed its welcome

She studied the calendar. How many more years before her desire died down, she wondered. Before biology would loosen it grip on hormones that held her hostage. It was a taskmaster demanding carnal satisfaction, an appendage she neither wanted nor needed, a great distractor from dreams that mattered. It would never be satisfied, could never … Continue reading longing has overstayed its welcome