“Summer was soaked with you.”

I dreamed in skies of blue before september stole all the light.

She loves her lonely moments the silence away from the crowds, when its just her daydreaming.

Her afternoon tea is a fountain of daydreams.

Night time thoughts lead nowhere but into melancholy.

Lets breath magic into each other.

In a world of lost souls how could I ever find a home?

Summer left me like an almost lover.

If I make him my home, will I lose the home inside myself?

Every drop of her gin held a lost world of night sky dances.

I feel blurry as a reflection in water.

Kiss the words from my lips like a love poem.

One thing that makes me prefer people over books is shared laughter.

The way she danced through life was poetry.

We fell in love because we were both summer souls.

I fell in love with the way you wanted more.

Let’s go back when we still saw stories in the stars.

The purpose of separation of church and state is to keep forever from these shores the ceaseless strife that has soaked the soil of Europe with blood for centuries.

I used to soak my mitts in a bucket of water for about two days. Then I’d put a couple of baseballs in the pocket and wrap it up with a rubber band.

We live in a glass-soaked civilization, but as for the bird in the Chinese proverb who finds it so difficult to discover air.

I was more inclined to think of it as “writer’s impatience”, and to follow Arthur Koestler’s dictum: “Soak; and wait.

There is something moon-soaked and dawn-flavoured about her.

I soak up personalities and energy. I can identify with anything because truthfully everything that makes up the world is characterized in some way in my family.

When she’s drenched in agony and soaked in pain, her smile holds the art this world is dying to learn.

My ink-soaked heart could write your name across the sky a thousand times more than the stars that decorate the velvet night.