husks of air pass
the shelled yellow left in fields
lake water like a bath that once
washed worries away.
this dry that takes my throat,
I ask it to tickle my cheek,
caress my soul,
embody the years passing me by.
Be my keeper of gone days;
I will carry you in whims yet-to-be.
Aug 13, 2020
Aug 13, 2020 at 7:19 AM UTC
husks of air pass
the shelled yellow left in fields
lake water like a bath that once
washed worries away.
this dry that takes my throat,
I ask it to tickle my cheek,
caress my soul,
embody the years passing me by.
Be my keeper of gone days;
I will carry you in whims yet-to-be.
