Earth would die
If the sun stopped kissing her.
I heard once that real love doesn’t ask what is in it for me; it just gives unconditionally. It just tries to take the weight out of somebody else’s pack, lessen his load, and if it gets reciprocated, that’s great, but that isn’t what you did it for.
My destination is no longer a place, rather a new way of seeing.
Fingertips on skin,
like soft hands on calm wheat fields,
dragging slow across.