washingmachine (Remove filter)
Silent Wash
It’s a direct drive of fifty litres
From me to you.
Six hundred miles north
Until I’m resting my eyes on your face:
That soothing easy care
From the dial and touch
Of your features
The mixed fabric of your voice
Trickling through my cells.
I am freestanding
But will bloom
When you enter the room.
Until then,
I’m in this intensive
...
Monday 21st November 2022 8:49 pm
Recent Comments
Manish Singh Rajput on Sitting To Write
34 minutes ago
Manish Singh Rajput on Peninsula
37 minutes ago
Carpe Diem on Breathe
39 minutes ago
Tim Higbee on Peninsula
4 hours ago
Auracle on In memoriam...
6 hours ago
Auracle on Fred's dilemma
6 hours ago
Auracle on Another Shadow
7 hours ago
Auracle on Soulmates progress
7 hours ago
Auracle on Eradicating an old flame pain
7 hours ago
Auracle on Peninsula
7 hours ago