How brackish those inland seas we carry within us, and how sweet the salt memory of those tides. This is all I can do, now: fix myself a cup of coffee, watch the honey-thread spin itself in as I stir, catch it on the tip of my finger and lick it off. A taste of that mineral elixir, and I recall how the berry stains set on your hands: sweat as mordant fixing the juice, dyeing the memory, our skin damp as the inland sea.
4 comments:
Oh, that's gorgeous.
Thank you for this, Lori.
Kind wishes,
am
Thank you for this.
Kind wishes,
am
Heyo my friends - just found the buried treasure of your comments via the non-mobile site's backend. Thank you for your time, your reading these, and your sweetness. ((((hug))))
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