The Curve Of Breasts, The Blade Of Purity

Her caress is a breath. It is mist brushing along the surface of a stream.

Mornings

Wakefulness is unwelcomed, and it arrives with fluttering eyes and soft groans of protest.

Sobriety

I am dizzy off of you.

Committing This To Memory

The fear is itself consumed by an urge to climb the center console and curl up in her lap.