nestled between
impulsive storms.

there was nothing else to lean on
but the horizontal wood and I was taken
to a buzzing grassy knoll.
smelled the petrichor.
feel the sun, pregnant with nostalgia
and good ideas, just waiting for a cloud to pass
or the nearest dawn,
lightly graze my clavicle with her forgiving shine.
falling asleep to a nestled purr,
I have been here before.

home.

 

3.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s