Pencil sketch of a nude woman in recline on a tousled bed. A book lays open, face down and forgotten near one outstretched arm as she sleeps.

in the places where she forgets to mind her composure,
she remembers to enjoy.
at peace
at rest
at once
and all undone
a book spilled out from her hand
as she dreams of Anais sans Henry,
drifting among the little birds.

Handwritten, cursive signature says "pea flower tea" in lowercase letters. The flower is a small sketch of a bloom, instead of the word for "flower".
If an idea doesn't explode orgasms of bright sparks, cascading into and setting my own dark places alight, then I probably won't write about it.

Tell me something that moves you.

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