wet pine trees,
the rain caressing the leaves,
a grey blanket, suffocates the green,
ice cold puddles, breeze and breath
I walk past, barefoot.
my toes cold enough to dream of summer,
towards the old house,
where the verandahs are free,
segmented and full of flowers.
the bed nearby astonishingly dry,
I sleep, beneath a velvet blanket
the air kept calling me,
the rain kept dreaming of me.
I wake up to a faint sun,
6:31 am , and warmth has melted,
smell this nostalgia,
now.
four in the mourning
with warning
red skies night do deelight
red skied morning
ante meridian
phobiacs
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