Her smile is like brown sugar and cinnamon. Sweet, but not overwhelming.
She moves like a rain storm, slow at first so I can keep up. Then fast. Too fast for me.
She’s a bitter-sweet hurricane, one that will never get the name it deserves. One that I stand idly by and observe when I should be trying to dance into her eye.
Just a short piece I wrote in the early morning hours of last Saturday. I hope you like it.