It’s the part of the morning when the sky is whitish-pink, blush. With a kiss of promise, thin. Fleeting. The knots begin their tightening in my stomach, and I worry: will this be a good, safe day? Somewhere it isn’t. And I am so porous (I misspell this, pourous, and imagine my body as a vessel, emptying, emptying, like a flood crushes stone) I’m not sure I can tell anymore what’s in here, and what’s out there. It’s all come inside, inside and crouches like an animal. Coils and coils of panicked stillness. Trembling hesitation. Everything is covered with eyes, all blinked observation. Everything from all sides, inside, outside, watching. Vigilance without aim is fear. Peach light seeping over the grass, melting wet and buzzing in the trees.
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Photo by Yohann LIBOT
Allison Marie Conway 
In room🖤🌹🖤
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♥️♥️🌹
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I hope you well, love ❤️🌹
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Love to you, sweet friend ♥️🌹🌹🕊🕊
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“Vigilance without aim is fear.” Insert fire emoticons here. (currently on a PC) 😉
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Oh thank you so kindly Tom ☺️♥️
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She’s back in town!
‘peach light seeping over the grass…’
Aces xo
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Hello hello Nick Reeves, thank you so very much my friend. xo ♥️
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Hello dear Allison. I loved your work today. I hope you are enjoying the days of Summer.
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Thank you so much dear John. Wishing you the beauty of summer as well. ❤️🌹🕊
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Thank you dear Allison.
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