We both count the fan that rippled this afternoon. springs flowing in the silence of the soul, and wet lips framing cold moist rocks.
sought a quiet encounter to reluctantly disturb the motion.is there my tongue fixated? because no silent words from the water drip on your eyelids. blue and so deep kumeraung chills.
I was craved to miss the mahogany root tassels. a descending seed that has soared through the heart of a child of the land. now falling as an elderly and lousy dawn, delivering a wounded message on an anonymous letterhead. So lonely in the fragrant fragrance so silent and silent the silent shower of wind blowing branches, the motion is so slowly imitated, and the bench is still empty. I want to run. chasing shadows on the horizon grasping orange before being swallowed up by the pride of the building. let me gray, let naked time.
@master-steem