By: Linda M Crate the water is too cold remembers me the blue of your november eyes suspended in the white of snow, and so i use my summer’s heart to melt through that memory; if i want to swim…
By: Linda M Crate the water is too cold remembers me the blue of your november eyes suspended in the white of snow, and so i use my summer’s heart to melt through that memory; if i want to swim…