Monday, November 15, 2010

Ithaca Vineyard

As I walk through the vineyard, I can't help but be reminded of your green smoldering eyes caressing my body. Your touch is so exquisitely delicate and full of infinite passion. I daydream of the next time your arms are around me, crushing me in a warm embrace.

I hear voices in the distance; the moans increase to a crescendo.

"Marta . . ."

"John . . ."

Recognizing your voice, I quietly walk down the path and peer through the vines. Yours eyes meet mine; her eyes also.

I whisper . . . "How could you?"

I run through the green haze and collapse in despair.

To see more, visit the Burrow's Prismatic Feature.


  1. Short but to the point, loved the read. sorry but the picture was missing.


  2. Thanks Yvonne. I think I fixed the problem. Not sure how that happened.