I want the passage of time
on my face, in my joints.
Like a sunset golden
over autumn leaves.
With purple clouds &
in the distance:
is that the beckoning
of my destination?
Autumn.
Published
Where lines happen.
Where lines happen.
I want the passage of time
on my face, in my joints.
Like a sunset golden
over autumn leaves.
With purple clouds &
in the distance:
is that the beckoning
of my destination?
