Discarded lace of silk and flowery knee-highs adorned with chatter, the emerald morning sun, they hide no beauty to a golden bay, to peeling shy and crimson skies. Tentative beads of pacing dew, impaling a reflection resting, the girl with my emerald filter of fading silk, dreams of petallike cloud, the taste of ashen sky, imbedded blue, those amongst the chatter of a day brightly new.

2019 Adam Blewett ©