Lines trace themselves into my palms
Cracks deepen as the sandy dirt dries
Hair flutters and flickers in wind
Green grasses dance in whispers
Grated teeth withhold heavy meaning
The salt of brine sets water still
Kind natured words flee from flora lips
In the valley green, mountains rise
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 7:54 PM UTC
Lines trace themselves into my palms
Cracks deepen as the sandy dirt dries
Hair flutters and flickers in wind
Green grasses dance in whispers
Grated teeth withhold heavy meaning
The salt of brine sets water still
Kind natured words flee from flora lips
In the valley green, mountains rise
