I’ve forgotten the scent of packed dirt on an easy picnic, of your mother’s laundry room clinging to her fresh linens.
I’ve forgotten the taste of rushed sandwiches from a wicker basket.
I’ve forgotten Sunday mornings,
But I haven’t forgotten you.
YOU ARE READING
Aesthetics
PoésieI felt it was time for a new beginning, so I've restarted my collection of poems. Feedback is encouraged.
