stories

 
tracks in dough
stitches for a dainty soul
salty tears down one cheek
warm breath against the neck
snuggled close in bed
ésme on her bicycle
warm smells about the room
colours of lunch when raw
jewelled window panes
sprouting spinach
dripping tap
soft against the skin
mouth pauses
ears listen
heart waits.


some stories are forgotten
and some are carefully stored.