It's close to midnight-- the Witching Hour. Candles light our way as we travel through the corridor. Cobwebs and rats' nests bar our way. The darkness closes in on us and the mist brushes tenderly against my face like ghostly fingertips. I hear the howling of the wind in the trees outside--an eerie sound that … Continue reading Autumn–1990


I feel your eyes as you look at me from across the room. I hear your breath rasp into the silence. I sense your pulse racing as you reach for me. You are passion, and you grip me tightly.   --1990