When we returned, the night-scent was on our clothes and in our hair. This morning, our limbs are bare.
Orchard Nights
Blossoms are lights — think once, they’re nice,
think twice, they’re gone — then watch the thoughts fall,
until they’re not thought at all.
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Orchard Nights, Poems, Poetry, Thoughts
William Michaelian 