The night was a velvet cloak, heavy and dark, punctuated only by the sliver of a moon that dared to peek through the clouds. Inside the bedroom, the air was thick with anticipation, a palpable hum that vibrated between...

in my waiting time I think of youpure beauty and longingwistful understanding to desireyour western drawl remindeds me of summermy passion stirred and I feel the pangs againto go down south and meet you barefoot in the grassmy soul...

I wonder, after all these years,If she still considers herself luckyTo have landed a fishOf such colour and tenacity.Or,Does she now only seeFaded beautySans scales, sans colour, sans vitalityYet still attached to her hook?I ask myself the same questions...