Tales of Tom Orrow – Beauty.
He read her like a painting.
Fondled her like braille.
Told her like a fable and recalled her like a tale.
Spoke of her in beauty.
Her totality, her love.
Christened her in kisses and baptised her like a glove.
A chat amongst the punters.
Eye to eye that coffee-house.
Intensity a burning line desire without doubt.
She says she’s only human, but only she can put those fires out.
Tom Orrow called her daily.
He wrote, E-Mailed he paged.
He grew within the years where she never seemed to age.
© G.P Williamson 2017