What makes it easy?
Tied down like a northern sunset
Whispering softly at the moon.
Is it grass curls
That itch my yearning soul
Into an excited pit of
Frenzied loco-motion?
Or is the slow, unfurling
Heartbeat of Gaia’s necromancing
A long, sensual touch
From mine elbow to mine tips?
I whisper willows
As aging furrows
My easy, evermore.
Tag: furrows
Furrows Edge (day 689)
When we walk upon thin strips
Of new light cresting upon a fresh day
It is safe to allow ourselves to dream
To breathe deep the subtle air
Awakening sleeping surroundings
While developing the onslaught of madness
That shall soon take shape
Upon the brow of furrows edge