Blues Song for the Love Sprung

Dismal are Sunday rains. Mind drifts to cryptic messages you scribd in collarbone hollows, vibrating in sync with the wicked force of your body, exploring the depths of my quaint heat dripping warm cream. Dare to picture the results such extraordinary fantasy motivates. Soul unions are unpredictable; your enchantment? Unparalleled. Body aches remind me of…

I remember…

…things based on how emotionally attached I was/am in the moment. There are moments, phrases, feelings and situations I remember with glaring clarity.   Every nuance of them  replays in my mind like a record skipping under an old needle.  It’s not that they are always pleasant to remember (frankly, most aren’t), but because of how…