tell me of tamales
and of pan-dulce
with savored stares
warm, and lined
with vow,
and flies
I'll tell them
of a place
less known
a budding ranch
of splinter and trail
of citrus sky,
flecked, with rust
I'm told the air
might smell
of pine.
Dec 18, 2025
Dec 18, 2025 at 7:42 PM UTC
tell me of tamales
and of pan-dulce
with savored stares
warm, and lined
with vow,
and flies
I'll tell them
of a place
less known
a budding ranch
of splinter and trail
of citrus sky,
flecked, with rust
I'm told the air
might smell
of pine.
