the dandelion seeds float out of your mouth,
resting in my pores with the softest grin.
the growth of the grass has increased the past hour,
i can feel it brushing against my skin.
the picnic blanket is your grandmother's quilt,
and the thin material- with the breeze it will flow.
quiet green afternoons with you,
i will always love them so.
for your listening pleasure:
No comments:
Post a Comment