a sudden wind came to warm itslef
to the high embers od late August.
cracks in the ground, dry mouths,
cursing the world.
whoever may still live, lives,
because it only uses itself now.
we copy, we also live from ourselves now,
but the fire in us only stimulates our blood.
we give to eachother, fueled by love,
hot as this August, more and more alive:
two unreal beings outside of time,
yet the only defiant, green oasis
in the desert.
YOU ARE READING
SERENDIPITY ||poetry||
Poetry"i leave tomorrow." "cursing the world." "i can hear birds."
