My love is like a red-hot volcano
It’s settled. We’re countrified. We go blackberry hunting, sand castle building. A snake named Simon lives in our basement. It’s almost time to stoke up the woodstove again. I’m hungry for the scent of it.
And perfection? Justin in his boots. Something about it reminds me of his constant usefulness, his industrious ethic. He is of such substance, quiet and smiling and steady.
It's an irresistable sight. The country man’s stiletto heel.
If men wore heels.
Which some do.
You get the idea.
sweetsalty kate
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