What love is.
I am such love.No, all the world’s a stage
and we are mere
Janitors
We can write the script.
And dress as Rosalind
And Orlando and live
Like Robin Hood transported.But the trees; no drink too dry; the glass not half full; yet their throats longing
The trees; think of the trees;
I keep bees
yet stay in awe ; longing for a skirt ; pinkish thoughts
menopause
Bees suck at nectar
To bring the honey
For us to feast upon.
It is the liquid of sweet
Transformation.
but the kitchen fire
sauce pan alight – non-alignment ;
her sushi : too fishy
the key left if the door
abandoned
childhood
dream
of
cHRISTMAS
the bunny once hopping, now in flames
