born in the sticky summer
with hair of a gold-brown bushel
and hands sun-spotted
the days gently freckle your skin
spin round as a falling leaflet
sing loud for the harvest moon
you love like the beaches do
salt wind blowing full in your face
heat wave but the crops keep growing
eating peaches by the shaded pine
i'm caught playing a banjo slow tune
a dream i had in a field of white sand
the yellow sun and the green sung reed song
you sing with me on this sun-struck night
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- asklepiades (
asklepiades) wrote,
asklepiades
asklepiades
...of peaches and romance
-
Let's just live it.
The quiet lies - we don't need to talk about it anymore Don't need to figure out the truth Don't need to look inside our heads and in our hearts…
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(no subject)
I was wrong.
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(no subject)
Everytime someone died. color and breath, the fast unfurl of carbon away from death plants that rise and grow, strange citybomb beneath…
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