It feels like listening
to music from white walls;
Infectious nothing
intrudes the innocence
of lounge
and lingering perfume.
It's the stigma of summer
dripping down like candle wax;
or flying feathers,
fueled by fascination.
my mind stumbles -
the aftermath of ardor
is pillow talk.
(and moments miming
mellifluous memories.)















;
)



Dee




lol 













44 old applause
