Your shy smile, in the buds
blooming late by mellow winds;
distant in the leaves turned golden
your fiery hair;
the city below, still asleep,
stuttering in the lanes, your voice,
in the coffee morning shop.
my heart, all the butterflies.
Your dreamy smile, in
the toast maker lady at the kiosk.
You said I should go to Primrose Hill
So I went to Primrose Hill.
and I found you everywhere.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 5:55 PM UTC
Your shy smile, in the buds
blooming late by mellow winds;
distant in the leaves turned golden
your fiery hair;
the city below, still asleep,
stuttering in the lanes, your voice,
in the coffee morning shop.
my heart, all the butterflies.
Your dreamy smile, in
the toast maker lady at the kiosk.
You said I should go to Primrose Hill
So I went to Primrose Hill.
and I found you everywhere.
Someone sent me to Primrose Hill. Someone I lost and may never find again. Except in these memories. This is neo-cubist in the sense of Pierre Reverdy.
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