Maybe
I was driving the car.
The was moon going behind a cloud
with mountains in the background.
My eyes saw the grey green of trees.
The river and rocks held a pink cast.
Blue old me, collecting thoughts.
Hearing the harvest ball. Flowering.
Feeling like a butterfly in the mouth of the sun.
With skin tight honey and soft trees.
Consider, push, breathe, wish.
Memories of the sea, wet and relaxing.
Catch me sat, home and dry.
With best hopes pouring. BOOM.
Copyright © Langlea Residents | Year Posted 2017
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