i would stand and listen
to the rustling of a tree's leaves,
watching as they glistened and glimmered in the sunlight

the wind moving through the leaves and branches
like water running over and between a stream's rocks

sometimes i pretend
that the rustling is your thoughts all the way from the east,
reaching your west coast girl
you're sharing them with me

soft whispers spoken in your voice separate your thoughts that flow through the trees,
breezing off my soft skin
like undiscovered kisses from your sweet lips

your west coast girl is waiting
waiting and listening for you
tell me
tell me *it's time to come home