Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

there is a stone that resembles
us across the street in someone
else's yard behind the iron fence,
behind the boxwood hedge

the north wind anchors
me in my forgetfulness
I wish not to intrude
reluctant memories,
apostates of my woman-skin
lingering
on your fingertips,
our brief interlude--
the sunflower sun,
turning...

when the north wind swirls & blows, be aware of your nuts ...!

cool to listen to other winds, too..!

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