she goes

she goes
and the leaves follow behind
holding hands
with the wind

the wind makes weaves
out of her hair
and the leaves run
to her shin

and the wind moves the hem on her thigh
and I love her thigh
and the curves of the meadow
and the butterfly

 

This entry was posted in 2019, literature, poem, poems, poetry, writing and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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