untitled (seasons)

In the Summer
we flee to shores
sunburn, cool breeze
we want sand and ask
for a trip to Gliese

And then comes Winter
we taste the bitter
in the spirits drinks
All is warm if
you can’t think

Spring is dead
Autumn’s gone

Will you call me home?

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s