Lays the sun
Drunk the feet
Point the toes to the swamp
Let grasses bite you
in the freshly opened summer
* That Thing We Call Summer *
Published
"At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poem." – certainly not by Plato
"At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poem." – certainly not by Plato
Lays the sun
Drunk the feet
Point the toes to the swamp
Let grasses bite you
in the freshly opened summer
The Fleeting Moments 