Peckish
By birksy
A nibble, a bite, the soft woollen scarf, sends shivers down timbers long hung out to dry. A green scented sofa, through the slats of the blind, the moon starts to beckon, the hungry wolves cry. Who’ll be there tonight, make sure that door’s locked up tight, don’t want to let go, stay here for all time. The warm screen still hums, who cares anymore, we’re still keeping quiet, laid out on the floor. Written January 3rd, 2002 © on Jan 03 2002 02:36 AM PST, Simon Birks 0 • 10
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"A nibble, a bite,..."