There's a ghost in my house. I hear her singing.
A little girl. Why is it always a little girl?
The light through the window is barely enough to see by, but the sky outside is very pale. Clouds
...
[+]
The air is fresh now, and clean,
gone is the sultry, moody sky
that carried a veil of humidity
Stroking our skin with wetness,
leaving a languid erotic sense
aware of our bodies, but lazy
Touch was work, the air heavy
love was easier to speak than do
but now we make love easily
Languid, we lay on our bed, sweat
glossing our skin, tracing salt on tongue
but after the rain, love is energised
