“grey beret, voice of a bird, heart like a house towards which my deep longings migrated and my kisses fell, happy as embers.
Sky from a ship. Field from the hills:
Your memory is made of light, of smoke, of a still pond!
Beyond your eyes, farther on, the evenings blazing.
Dry autumn leaves revolved in your soul.”
— Sep 15, 2024 11:11PM
Add a comment