To Who Finds Me

Dear Lover,

Echos of Night

Echos of Night By Rose Bence Your voice is like poetry dripping with molasses. Like standing at the cusp of an Irish sea cliff, bungee cord crisscrossed about my waist. Do I tremble at the cold? The fear? Or is it something more… ? Are you something more; more than the whispers of a passing…


Your arms are the arms of the letter “H” as you wrap tightly about my waist, kissing my ear as I say “O.”

Chapter One

My bare feet softly tread the concrete/ My too-long jeans scrape along…