Final Touches: lisa luxx
We were on the bed out in Somerset when it happened. During our stay at that little cottage with the roaming dogs and spiders, that’s when you became mass. Stretched on the bed with the books. Still in your towel, damp from the shower.
We’d prized ourselves on weaving through the pages of all that literature we’d overpacked; poetry, myths fanning across bedsheets, an aura to our warm bodies