In the morning,
she spins
circles around me
like a small child
gleeful.
At noon,
she's drunk on life,
swooning love.
And by suppertime,
she's strung out,
overdosed on
the sacredness
of another day.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 5:55 AM UTC
In the morning,
she spins
circles around me
like a small child
gleeful.
At noon,
she's drunk on life,
swooning love.
And by suppertime,
she's strung out,
overdosed on
the sacredness
of another day.
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