Written by Arlee Frances
You have been sitting longer than I, here in this garden shrouded in Sunday afternoon rain.
I fell in love with the way French rolled from your tongue, dripping like honey between your lips, falling onto the counter.
Your hair falls like a curtain between you and the garden, hiding miles of creamy skin as I tried to see you from behind the pages of my book.
I watch as you use your limbs to create a world of your own. Body folding into one seamless line around yourself, ankles stretched out and crossed.
X marks the spot.
(you are the treasure i have come to find)