Mornings,
Your face hangs over me
Like a moon,
The light itself
Is the colour of your
Hair,
The smell of summer
Flowers,
It is the smell of
Your
Skin.
Mornings,
Your face hangs over me
Like a moon,
The light itself
Is the colour of your
Hair,
The smell of summer
Flowers,
It is the smell of
Your
Skin.
MB Blissett 
Beautiful
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thank you so much.
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My pleasure. Your writing is lovely and often my words are inadequate. You have a gift.
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Thank you so much. I write from my heart, and the simple act of appreciation means a lot to me.
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