The dew it settled on her lips
And between her thighs
With every thrust of her loving hips
The air was filled with sighs
And she wept tears of pleasure
And she wept tears of pain
And as she wept in silence
The scent of the coming rain
- Stephen W. Brodie
Here are a few random scribblings from the distant past. Unfortunately, time does not allow for much writing these days.
