You were the modern pain,
in summer leaves,
and autumn brown trees,
rusty winds blew your hair away
you were,
but broken,
but scattered onto still lakes
bathing reflections of scalded skies
and I
forgot
how to draw constellations.
The winter beneath my chest,
longs for some of your breath.
wow...
Very well written. Fitting photo as well.
Beautiful words!
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