Like, how icy fingers and sweet fatigue
We wake up with
(Did it rain in our dreams?)
Linger at our memories edge.
You look outside the window and the leaves are wet, the city cold.
Like, how fragrance of cut-grass
We walk past by
On a hot summer day
Cannot be remembered again.
The breeze shifts, and now brings you stories of crowded, hot towns.
nautical miles - the world in triumphs, in passion; viewed from a million angles.
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