burned wood smell mixes with the alluring mountain anemone odor as I walk up the oregano aroma filled hills with the excitement of being close to eating mountain strawberries all wild and not mock they are truthfully tasty, rich, and redolent wholeheartedly you far from being bland unreadable and forgettable
not as old as the mountains or the trees in the redwood forest
He’s moving slower not as slow as the Galapagos tortoise he moves with purpose
His body’s softer not as soft as goose down but soft enough to wrap my arms around and feel protected
He's lighter colored not as light as an albino or a ball of floured pizza dough the darker hairs have turned gray the blush of crimson on his face has melted into butter but I could love no other
Cuts, bruises, and a deep and scary wound The whole life turned into a grimy pond of ugly frogs and nauseous frogspawn Bulged with pus, poison, and pain Whichever you kiss You get the icky taste of a painful and quick death