just beneath a snow swept
mountain peak. The
wall of clouds became
the pinkish-orange
we only see at dusk and
in mixed drinks.
I quickly fell in love
like children or celebrities,
quick and without thought,
but inevitably the gold shook out
and was replaced by a rather
serious purple that did not
understand me.
I spent the rest of evening
mourning my short tryst
and wondering how any
relationship works
with all of us
rising and
setting.
1 comment:
I want this to go on longer. And I want it to be a song. With some guitar strumming. And a slide harp. Or harmonica. Or both.
These are my wishes.
-Brooke
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