Mixed-up trees stepping in orange leaves,
Skin blessed with affectionate breezes;
Blues, greens, warms, silk feathers,
A crime to drive in this weather;
Bright shadows, flown smiles, limbs bared,
May-in-September-in-January;
If global warming takes me this peaceful way,
I won't revolt, I will obey.
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I woke up wet-skinned.
2 comments:
i like "flown smiles"
When I am sitting in this foreign house all alone I read your blog and say, "Fuck, I miss Maya."
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