texture of love

Memory is the brittleness of dry leaves  on sidewalks. Dynamites implode the trails where colours and smells steadfastly hold my hand and show the way. Aqua, sepia paint my feelings, tell me stories of sun drenched days. Like the one where you carried the morning on your bicycle basket.  Strains of music like ribbons tighten into knots, grains of sand fall from the places you touch, and the body codifies every touch and texture of love.


Photo courtesy: Lori Clinch Adams

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