Minimalism
The curves of her body were the gently rolling hills below the mountains where he lived as a boy.
Her brown eyes were the deep soil of the farmland.
She was beautiful like the land, the yellow flowers that he found as he roamed the countryside barefooted, the green trees that sparkled after heavy rain.
They listened to the sound of rain on the window of the hotel in the old part of the city.
They made love to the rolling thunder and flashing lightning of the morning storm beside the sea.
- trevor scott barton, stories for a brown-eyed girl, 2020
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