brianconley77
Her kiss tasted faintly of mint. It was one of those experiences that built itself into memory as a permanent foundation; something to be remembered in the warmth of death as what life was defined as.
She stared intently at the good, the wax paper rippling in the unusually heavy August winds. She looked at me from the corner of her eyes and bit into it defiently, ripping it away from her mouth like a lion with carcass.