Whiskey Flat Trail
The red dress poem, part 2, the night after the comments?
Before it aside for another day, she holds the fabric next to your face, breathes deeply and taken to the place where the whiskey and hay formed a sweet bouquet. His fingers trail up a tear in the edge where was your stilettos trapped when they raised their heels. As the top of your fixed flatbed close your eyes and listen … the old violin melodies, the rhythm of the drums fine voice the man who always wore black, whisper gently placed on the back of his neck and laughter, they all still echoed in his head and smiles … … a again. Socrates: link ADORABLE! Thank you.
have had the music of laughter in my ears all day my feet still want to dance another big night with all of you HUGS!
Dirt Bike Ride to Sawmill peak Look out Magalia CA