ninestars

today's air tastes like berries

and overused metaphors. the shadows run

across golden ground, and i look 

at our old stone wall like they would in farmers' days.

a boundary, a gate

The West Wind is a banker in a smart navy suit and a tie. His dress shoes clack on the pavement; he’s got someplace to be, always someplace to be, rushing to the sidewalk, the subway, the elevator, checking his gold Rolex watch.

I want to go back to that simpler time,

Where we ran through fields and played in dirt,

When we had an abundance of freedom, a million open moments,

ywp is my 

s 
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               r 

// bumblebee//honeybee//honey//sweet as nectar//you are beautiful//in every way//