The Warm Valley

My head rests in your warm center
rising with each of your breaths.
Your fingers run through my hair
as my daydreams drift
with the soft beats of your heart.
A little old couple walk a pair of ankle biters
through the park, holding hands.
A glimpse of our future, or maybe
our past.

Raud Kennedy

If you have any comments on this poem, Raud Kennedy would be pleased to hear them.

Snakeskin logo