My hair is like a sunflower
reddish and brown freckled with gold
and my lips taste like a strawberry
fruity and sweet, so I’ve been told.

I am gypsy and a saint,
a wild thought that cant be tamed
baptized in Burberry and sage
I’m dripping blue on rainy days.

I search for love at midnight
under the moons magnificent reign
because my head is full of daisies
& my heart is just the same.

When the willow tree died it faded
corroding to its core in shades of grey,
deserted by the crows who kept it;
new seasons claim what time decays.

The wind sneaks in through my window sill
and I can hear the rhythm of the rain.

A shy draft looms like a visitor
misplaced it roams my way.

Outside I hear the thunder howl
as windswept trees whisper my name,
so I close my eyes to the chill of the moon
pushing blue hues through my glass pane.

"I'm not enough" cried the moon
as she lit up the nights sky
a sliver crescent weeping blue
with eyes that pull in ocean tides

The seasons
teach us change
as fall skies shape
to powdered dust,
descending
into
puddles
drank by the thirsty sun.

In the seasons
I sat lonely
I learned what souls
to call my friend,
exposed by
changing colors
some did blossom
some did end.