I

My feet touch the grass. It silences the warm urges of my impulses.

And I wish I could write like the burst of melody in the back of her eyes as her lips her close around mine. And I wish I could write like the surge of force that collides her hips with mine. And I wish I could write with the feeling touch of her flying hair.

And I wish I could write. But my feet touch the cold grass and it silences the warm urges of my impulses.