Naked feet dance with blades of grass.
stuff written by jg
T H E M E S
alphabet fishing
creek songs or love strummed through the leaves
fruit
the whale
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Peach
I am art,
And he is not.
I am a peach,
And he is not.
I may have a pit for a heart
But it is buried deep under layers of sweet, subtle delight.
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