Jan 2018
I get lost
on fall days.
Amoung copper leaves,
and scribbled notes.
My thoughts amble through
a nebulae of
murky dreams and
lost memory.
Who am I?
on fall days.
Amoung copper leaves,
and scribbled notes.
My thoughts amble through
a nebulae of
murky dreams and
lost memory.
Who am I?
