qrenching my thirst

a burst of  fresh air

red slippery juice

a taste thats so rare

sunshining  in the midle of december

i captured your face

excuse my thirst

it comes with age

i feel like apple picking a field full of grace

apples so round and  crisp

its a quest of oblivious

into out to art form of you

love your essence

red crispy apple

smart and witty too

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed