I still see your shadow
etched into frosted glass.
As you stood against the window
in the face of a new dawn,
purple and crimson.
Your shadow is warm,
Even when what was our bed
is cold.
Poetry. Photography. Thoughts On The Way Of Things.
I still see your shadow
etched into frosted glass.
As you stood against the window
in the face of a new dawn,
purple and crimson.
Your shadow is warm,
Even when what was our bed
is cold.