<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<rss version="2.0">
	<channel>
		<title>Sabrina Claridge | WritersCafe.org</title>
		<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/lovemedoj2</link>
		<description>The original writings of author Sabrina Claridge</description>
		<language>en-us</language>
		<copyright>Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org</copyright>
		<lastBuildDate>1776084837</lastBuildDate>
		<generator>WritersCafe.org RSS Generator</generator>
		<ttl>15</ttl>
		<item>
			<title>Black Martinis </title>
			<description>the music jittersas the lights scatter&amp;nbsp;across the thumping floor1,2,3,4.&amp;nbsp;she breaks&amp;nbsp;from the crowdof lusty animals,reaching towards&amp;nbsp;her frosty&amp;nbsp;martini glass&amp;nbsp;1,2,3,4.&amp;nbsp;he watchesher take a swig and smirkswhen she&amp;nbsp;tips it back&amp;nbsp;1,2,4,3.&amp;nbsp;she&amp;nbsp;liquefie..</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lovemedoj2/895018/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Bus Ride to NYC</title>
			<description>I see the sky in theclearest and purist ofblue, white.&amp;nbsp;The trees twine togetherin an endless array ofblurred green. Theman-made&amp;nbsp;charcoal&amp;nbsp;muses in the with greengrass that brushes&amp;nbsp;into the pine andthe oak and thesteel rails.&amp;nbsp;We spin eagerly on alocked metal traps wheels.&amp;nbsp..</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lovemedoj2/895007/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>I think (love) </title>
			<description>I wonder (worry) ifyou ever think (love)&amp;nbsp;of me. If you think (love)&amp;nbsp;of me as much as&amp;nbsp;I, you, I wonder (worry).&amp;nbsp;You smile (frown) andI wish I could let&amp;nbsp;you see (be) the personyou're made to see (be).&amp;nbsp;</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lovemedoj2/895004/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Monsignor Parks </title>
			<description>Peddling toward a marked&amp;nbsp;grave turns the worldfrom golds and redsto pale grey.&amp;nbsp;The sky dripped the colorsof fall and washed themaway with the corpsessix feet under.&amp;nbsp;My florescent pink bikewith sparkling streamerssqueaks to a rough stop.&amp;nbsp;Monsignor Parks stands&amp;nbsp;over next to th..</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lovemedoj2/892583/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Blue Silks</title>
			<description>Under a giant reflective big top,I was a performer on silks,twisting my body expertly throughthe water.&amp;nbsp;In a lucid dream, I wasable to twirl in a weightless&amp;nbsp;atmosphere, completelyin control.&amp;nbsp;With precise shots ofmovements the ribbons&amp;nbsp;contortedto my leisure.&amp;nbsp;I spun around fur..</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lovemedoj2/892488/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Falling In Love (at the coffee shop)</title>
			<description>the loud chatter muses&amp;nbsp;in a stream of mist&amp;nbsp;as random indie music&amp;nbsp;churns together the&amp;nbsp;delicate experience&amp;nbsp;of waiting in line(at the coffee shop)i never thought i&amp;nbsp;would find love(at the coffee shop)but when the beautiful&amp;nbsp;barista sighs into her&amp;nbsp;work load i can on..</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lovemedoj2/891779/</link>
		</item>
	</channel>
</rss>