6 months ago Our Time A rare gentleness lies over her, as if molding clay to her wish when she strokes my face. Her tiny hands tell of a delicate feminine beauty that can be felt like bittersweet kisses under a resigning sun. My senses, a dry lake, now filling to its limit as I close my eyes, ready to drown. Death no longer frights me but to live for only this moment in our time. ElectricL 0 37
