My thoughts are wilting upon the branches of
my reflections, each one a shade different from
the other that like shimmers of a sunset linger.

I wait for the instance when assumption is oxidised
and in heavy nothingness they fall wilted on my
mind, they are cushioned beneath so many more.

My minds creativity has descended and now rotting
in colourful expiration. And for now my thought don't
wave, till the next time buds of thought form and reform.