We live.

 


Air settles,

wing-like on the shadowed glow,

listening to our breaths above

the distant world.

 

As those half open-eyed hours

leave

soft indents

in the stretched out blue,

drawing it out over warm skin,

 

we are buried.

Beneath duck-down quilts, sheltering

our reckless innocence from the Earth’s

slow revolve,

 

we live.

0 0 votes
Rate This Writing
Subscribe
Notify of
1 Comment
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments
mikeverdi

Like this a lot, hope you will post more.
Mike