If sin existed
it does not hold a name in our green palace
bewitched by the eyes of fantasy we run
into open grass plains
the gloaming border sky blinds us
like a kaleidoscopic phantasm
that encircles us
and entrances us with the rhythm our laughter makes
as it echoes across the big green
like chimes on midsummer night
here
between the bur oak trees
and the trill of the white tipped dove
we shape shift
compress tight
to explode
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 8:08 AM UTC
If sin existed
it does not hold a name in our green palace
bewitched by the eyes of fantasy we run
into open grass plains
the gloaming border sky blinds us
like a kaleidoscopic phantasm
that encircles us
and entrances us with the rhythm our laughter makes
as it echoes across the big green
like chimes on midsummer night
here
between the bur oak trees
and the trill of the white tipped dove
we shape shift
compress tight
to explode
