June 3
it was the perfect day of you.
you were in the sun-drenched, drowsy warmth.
you lingered in wafting smoke...
i read you in whitman; you were the words, seeped into ink-stained paper.
you were the shadows, the echoes, the foreign tongues, the familiar and the utterly distant.
you were there in my tranquility, my meditation, my incapacitation.
i tasted you on the breeze, you encircled me, arousing shivers.
you were the lizard crawling toward the river.
you were my exploration.
you flowed onto this page.
you were in the calm, the silent stillness, at the end of the day.
you were in the sun-drenched, drowsy warmth.
you lingered in wafting smoke...
i read you in whitman; you were the words, seeped into ink-stained paper.
you were the shadows, the echoes, the foreign tongues, the familiar and the utterly distant.
you were there in my tranquility, my meditation, my incapacitation.
i tasted you on the breeze, you encircled me, arousing shivers.
you were the lizard crawling toward the river.
you were my exploration.
you flowed onto this page.
you were in the calm, the silent stillness, at the end of the day.