The saffron orb latently marching to a sinful heart,
A sorry june morn will soon be a yellow charade.
Sticky soaked yet almost blooming,
an unpretentious lovers’ song shall be miles apart.
The afternoon breathes with a lazy crooning,
The wanton cuckoo throws her oars unassuming.
I hang my weather-worn dreams by the bedside,
they might come alive when the twilight is moaning.
As the curtain comes down marginally bona fide,
and the dusk is trotting in a crimson tide.
I dare step out on a wafting breeze,
Wind chime, prayer flags on a rhythmic flight.
The billowing stars coax the arid dreams to ease,
a famished lovers’ kiss is just all you promise.
a full moon chorus and a swaying lover’s charm,
the seasons don’t matter, the reasons may freeze.
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