Petrichor 5-7-5

Her hair smelled of hay,
summer rain and first kisses;
breathless, petrichor.

His fingers trembled
childhood’s last tattoo, across
her pale, arching spine.

Ryan Stone



17 thoughts on “Petrichor 5-7-5


    Ryan, seriously, you need to put all your haiku together and publish. I just read this one on the W.S.S. this morning. I wish I could write haiku how you do! πŸ˜€

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I am in love with this word (and of course I have written about it) What a sincere and pure time. The stories you tell, the feelings you arise, mixed with the smell of earth after the rain.

    Liked by 1 person

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