Friday, September 12, 2014

She says high to the back of my head

fall mornings
sun lazy on horizon
burning red
cloud cover drift
air is light
rustles sunflowers
at the corner
a squating cat
in tall grass
follows my gait
an empty street
vibrant colors
crisp autumn color
sweet smell
of calender pages tear
drop and torn
a sweet voice calls
like whispers between
sleeping trees
whithered leaves

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