you grass your bare feet
at the lowing of the sun
crisp the burning red
and dying golds,
soles arched against
the gathering of the cold
and eyes gone grey
for the wanting
as eventide draws
long shadows low
chimaera
share:
you grass your bare feet
at the lowing of the sun
crisp the burning red
and dying golds,
soles arched against
the gathering of the cold
and eyes gone grey
for the wanting
as eventide draws
long shadows low
share:
4 responses to “chimaera”
I am loving this verbing of “grass”, Michael. Brilliant and sticky. Thank you for this, friend : )
Thank you so much Stacey 💕
Nice choice of short words!
Thank you 🙏