death of a sort
so little is reliant on
a brewing pot of morning
or wafting wisps of grain
whose warmth presses lips,
pulses patter 'neath veins
and butter dribbles freely
as a grapefruit réveille
parades playfully above
an eye-rubbing horizon
tousling tree-top buds,
changing hues in the wind
while dreams of night evaporate
●○
°
Poetry by arquious
Read 574 times
Written on 2015-12-17 at 14:29
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
