Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2015
Fingers stuck in time grazing complexions similar to cinnamon.
Feeling sweetness not too unlike the cinnamon that melts to create your skin.
My host mother hands me cinnamon to sprinkle lightly over softened apples.
I can't help but think of you.
Alexandria Rae Mason
344
   --- and SPT
Please log in to view and add comments on poems