The library

Heat enveloped

Cursed touch

Soaring high yet

Dormant still.

There's a little chance,

A little chance

Little little fox gloves-

Fuzzy fuzzy warm.

There's a neon wasp

On the windowsill.

Like a honey locust tree,

Which settles its roots deep,

Maybe it's the gods who

Broke my mind

The shadows cannot touch

The rolling fog

My mind is still yet crying out,

To the hours lost last night.

A dried chamomile is withered.

Its life force withered out.

A cheery fruit of

Yellow bloom,

Like a stream that

Burbles with joy.

Tidal waters shift.

One moment rising high,

Tell me compass,

To where must I go?

Each fin dappled bright,

With patches of dots

The salty taste of egg yolk,

The burning of the tongue,

It's a lawn party,

With aromas floating around.

Distant rumbles beneath

The sky.

Some bonds run deeper

than one can imagine.

A sweet sip of Kakigori tea,

To lounge on sand-crusted sheets.

Wind whirls across the street,

While leaves clatter with it.

In that moment,

With the cold wind

Within a jumbled,

Wrecked,

Summer skies yield to

winter ways.

Inked inside the

White, white sheets,

To prance about yelling

to the crowd,

Like spring rain which

Overflows the streams

The strike of a silver bullet

Panics you into alarm.

Tracks colored a baked sienna

Taints my sneakers red.

With the morning dew,

And rising sun,

Teal waters

Foam and froth

A harsh line calls from

A distant horizon.

A dripping fern canopy

Along a muddy rooted path,

Sometimes gently

Sometimes rough,

A piercing glow over

The horizon's dusky sky.

Winding roads under

Starry windswept nights

Submerge yourself.

A splendid journey

Shining stars do tell,

Will you grant my wish as well?

The sky twinkled pink,

On a freezing cold night.

My cheeks flushed,

Into the color of a ballet rose.

Pale clouds swirl just out

the misting windows.

Do you know the pain,

The misery

A small critter

Climbs its way up,

Rain Rain come this way

Flow into the english channel

They ask me why,

They don't say,

On a night

rarer than tanzanite

You lost your trail

by the trickling riverside.