It could be that I am about

To embark on a new timed reality

Called the reeking of Summer,

But I rot away

Like the viewed time for the way all things begin

To savour the rights of man to be blue

And not white and red like you who

Ask me to tell you about me

But I ask

What is it about you that makes me

Understand the likelihoods of being

In the rare presence of younger and older

Styles of longing, like you don’t know it.

But it is true to see that you

Don’t need it either, like the wood

Does not need tree to burn.




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