Baby blue sky, clear with wisps of feathery clouds The temperature has dropped like a stone; As the ribcage bends to accommodate the chill in the air It runs up the spine reminiscent of the touch Cold hands - a lovers deception It's not just the weather It's a state of mind When the heart …
Trilby Yates
My words are a direct reflection of what is being played out in my mind. For artistic purpose and dramatic effect I have duct-tapped the "edit" button…
Trilby Yates 