Thursday, January 11, 2007***************************** The Memory of Her *************************The Memory of Her Her scent drifted Fresh laundry Blowing through vents The smell of home Clean and pure The white of her face Freshly fallen snow In comparison to The paperback yellow Of the street lights Hanging like beads From lamppost necks The clang of her heels A familiar beat In his heart And... Sign in to see full entry.posted by MiaElla at 8:18 AM Comments (10) (permalink) |
