white Road

There hasn't been a sound through 
Colours that are dripping
make us hysterical
But as I go as I must do
Round the heath
The stunning Whales of August
In Coves of neon
His dreaming
His stares are worn
and they creak
They complain when I come
and talk when I go
Fresh coffee and oranges
and almond cakes
I am momentary gone
Colours that are dripping
I think of you in Greece
Copyright © | Year Posted 2025

Poem

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