he looked at her
and his smile
wrapped around her
like bendable sunlight:
impossible, perfect,
and then
and then…
snowflake kisses
under a summer cloud
before evening dances
across a forest
and over London’s bridges.

And she thought,

“The language of laughter,
your own personal dialect
is dangerous to me.
It pulls me in,
like a tight cord around my waist;
fully in your control,
and you smile
and the cord pulls tighter
and leads me wherever you go.”

Laura Marie 

Copyright: Laura Davis © 2018, all rights reserved.