She was the extra-hot expresso. Her taste kick-starting his day – her petite, aromatic dance tantalising his taste buds, picking him up with a playful bite to his lip. She was the heat he knew, the heat he loved and cherished. Each and every morning, each and every day. ~ Mark Thompson
Her heart’s not of gold as a good heart should be. It was molded from birth through ash-filled past days, mistakes and dismay. Through times so unjust, fear-fuelled through mistrust, dripping muddy-teared faces and tempting memory erases. The lessons now known gave her heart the way, in compassionate trust to see through the storm, to…
When I gaze into your eyes and hear your thoughts in carefree bliss, when I grab your ass and place a hand behind your neck to pull you near, taking in your breath holding each so dear. I can feel your pulse and that sense of care, my soul caressed in conscience aware, you opened…
She was the graffiti-covered wall. Her atoms were bricks, forged in a furnace of moments, her mortar holding them tight. She was drenched in the paint of those who touched her. Layered in angst; coloured with love; splashed in memories; peeling with scars. She weathered the storms and accepted her cracks, and loved every inch…
Billions of neurons firing, and the strongest of pathways are for you. ~ Mark Thompson
Passion drives everything that we do. From our work, our play, our love. Feel it in your core, and go out and explore; your true self. You are exactly who the world needs.
She wore the lips he would make love to forevermore. ~ Mark Thompson
Her body was the fretboard to his fingers. ~ Mark Thompson
She was the well-carved sculptured ice, crafted in Icelandic form, a million years before her dawn, so beautiful in every way. She glistened in that crystal shine, crying in the midday sun, dripping stories still untold, on that warming Summer’s day.
Puzzles are for piecing Minds are for quieting Creative flows grow In the consciousness of being. I am. ~ Mark Thompson