Ryann R Brasher

That’s how crisp, cool air is

Glorious

The changing of the guard

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She had gone to see the Sahara

She had never been before

She wanted to see the sun rise

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The wispy trail of the scud crashing by

Natures street-sweeper ready to fly

The usually delicate foliage of the

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Butterflies in the forest

Gently flying to and fro

On an early spring day

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My hands are hot hot hot

My palm is turning red

I’m smiling for the spectators

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Lips on my neck,

Hands on my body.

Palms on my chest,

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I am in the murky waters of life

The water is cold to the touch

Up to my knees

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When we are away or leave

We hunger for the scent of home

We wish for something familiar

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The sun is about gone for the day

It is that time before nightfall and daytime

A slight warm breeze is blowing

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Held by a woman

Loved by a woman

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