The burn of the glare of a mal-humored bend of sunlight
coming through slats of blinds.
Water boiling in a pot before being poured over the Hummingbird blend.
Coffee soon with heavy creamer.
Thighs still sore from quaking.
Ass still sore from tightening in nervous tension.
Cheeks still sore from smiling so hard for so long.
(And, she looks for some sort of transition here,)
And, finding none,
She moves to the
Room under the moon.
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
Author: writtencasey
I am fascinated by the scientific endeavor and I read about or engage with those processes as much as possible. I am a compulsive reader and writer.
With a background in anthropology and as an arm-chair/backyard scientist, I hope to improve my writing skills and learn about any areas of weakness or misunderstanding in my analytic skills.
I am excited to share. Thank you for spending time here.
Please reach out if you are so inclined. I'd be excited to hear from you.
View all posts by writtencasey
WrittenCasey 