By: Linda M. Crate when there’s thunder there’s lightening and always a surplus of rain colder than moon silver to kiss me with the stain of his melancholy or rage; wiping smiles so easily away as if they were constructed by…
By: Linda M. Crate when there’s thunder there’s lightening and always a surplus of rain colder than moon silver to kiss me with the stain of his melancholy or rage; wiping smiles so easily away as if they were constructed by…