love poem

* * The woman in the window flutters and burns like a dripping heart. He appraises from below; his eyes tug at her hair. “Hello!” He calls, “Here I am!” She smiles and waves. It is her job to sit

/ almost-poems

love poem

* * The woman in the window flutters and burns like a dripping heart. He appraises from below; his eyes tug at her hair. “Hello!” He calls, “Here I am!” She smiles and waves. It is her job to sit

/ July 19, 2011 / 15 Comments