iPhone 5 shot
Don’t listen to the empty drone of nature’s agony, or the soft cadence of rain’s sorrow. The wet cringe of tossed hours, kisses absent the flood of desire, words poured from empty thoughts. Surrounded by moistened air, drowning in each breath vacant purpose without hands clinging to throat, breast, thigh or neck. Light ripples as day sinks to night, whispers blurred under the water of dreams, oceans of revelation caught in throats of quiet fretting. The sting of hurried contact eludes, all edges blurred as if open eyes submerged. And passion’s absence is a longing, a river for the sea.