Seventy degrees
and the sun is just burning
the tops of the trees.
Sky deep and confused,
Crossed in a settling spectrum,
calm in purple hues
The notes hit my ears,
my head dances in the clouds,
and stars lick my tears.
Space hospitable,
much accustomed to the fall:
inevitable.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
Seventy degrees
and the sun is just burning
the tops of the trees.
Sky deep and confused,
Crossed in a settling spectrum,
calm in purple hues
The notes hit my ears,
my head dances in the clouds,
and stars lick my tears.
Space hospitable,
much accustomed to the fall:
inevitable.