nascent

this, astir, tiding of a windfall in the noon of fire. a fledgling smile, hummed with cloud towers of blues to the unbound. and i’ve seen, blossom cradles keeping the monastery quiet of a petrichor field. opening eyes, whispering gentle thunderstars of green ghosts to being. vingt-mille fleurs sous les fleuves. vingt-mille fleurs sous le ciel…rising, swooning into the infinite you

lanscape4

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