My saddle
collects dust.
Only
in the long absence
of your light
does the sunset
become, burning,
the catalyst
through which
the core of me
eats itself
from the inside out.
I can smell the rain
on the fields.
My saddle
collects dust.
My saddle
collects dust.
Only
in the long absence
of your light
does the sunset
become, burning,
the catalyst
through which
the core of me
eats itself
from the inside out.
I can smell the rain
on the fields.
My saddle
collects dust.