Winter, don't go. Winter, don't stay. Wide expanses beckin from postcards on a window sill. Australia's outback limitless the sky behind a southwestern church boundless the horizon of my life spread on a lover's blanket in a luxurious feast. In the sunset room the color of my yhears the pomegranite juice of passion, fading. Tkhe womb is a barren landscape dry as leaves blown up in the March wind. Crone's blood, darkened in the silhouettes of trees when they shake the sky. Yet, spring e-merges from the soil's black face dormant roots feel the earth's surge Seasonal intuition lives in the minds of tulips and crones.
Reason for writing:
Spring and middle age
Birth sign: Not entered
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