You are in a secret and secure
garden, off-guard bench, made
in Wannabee French wood, and
give two classical eyes were pointed
straighter ahead, but to see the
brightness up close, on top
the increasable nose, recruit the
smell of a simple-minded rose,
co-written prose words upon
the unison sidewalks are nice and
neat, the ghost, the spirit shall
what to look, kicking back,
enjoying your touchy moment
alone, and rightful catch midair
breeze, younger faceup American
feet, it was a sweet thought
Written by
Michael James Brindley
4-2-24
No comments:
Post a Comment