in the whispers of the wind
I can feel your arms calling me,
“Let’s take the old route home. It’s okay,
we can bring along your heavy luggage;
I just want to watch the fall leaves fall.”
Like gold stars and amber lights,
bright and rusty just like last time,
they’ll colour our pathway falling, dancing
so carelessly like children,
eventually leading us to the end of the road,
the equilibrium with an acoustic song playing;
I smile with deeply etched dimples.
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