My Own

Alone in beauty is not alone

a moment to clarify your position in the ethereal

ephemeral existence

comfort in simplicity

a smell of childhood, downy softened blankets

a mothers perfume

grandmas rose-milk lotion

crying into your best friends fur

falling asleep in the sun

newly cut grass

petrichor without the lightening

new dirt tilled soft by inquisitive fingers

finding your place in the world

 

 

 

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