Jun 2019
Away
Into sticky
Summer night.
The nape of my neck
Tickled by passing breath
Of flower scent.
Laughing with moon mother,
Was I mingling with constellations or
Reflections?
Surely I was dreaming.
Into sticky
Summer night.
The nape of my neck
Tickled by passing breath
Of flower scent.
Laughing with moon mother,
Was I mingling with constellations or
Reflections?
Surely I was dreaming.
