Slow Kisses and Kerosene

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You are helping me find this new version of me. I let the darkness dissipate. I feel childhood again – you know, what it’s really supposed to be like. Ink-stained fingertips and chalkboard sidewalks, bed forts and belly laughs. Growing up innocent and idyllic.

April Cherries, Summer Vineyards

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It feels like one of those quiet afternoons in July that drip molasses and honey from rustic windowsills of brick and barrel. Breadcrumb trails and leftover cheese line the crevices like pixie dust and pirate hooks. My hair is sticking to my balmy lips; a light wind cradles the vineyard hills – a mother and a womb of grapes of purple and black.

Shoulder Blade Braille and Floating Stars

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It was a slow drip, the way he made love to me. Exhaling sighs into my bones, letting fire mix with marrow. His fingers pulsed into my skin, and I could feel his heart beat under the blue rivers of his wrist. I let him seep into me. The smell of his evening shower, and the grizzly needles along his jawline dotting Braille along my shoulder blades.