photo credit: Micah Ricke

photo credit: Micah Ricke

Love, come with me, let us make lodge
in our secret garden, our cottage by the sea
and whisper thoughts with naked vulnerability.
We will recite the constellations–wrought
above the sea, mocking her restless waves by night–
and walk under the Milky Way, that silver sash that trims
the sky. The seagull’s cry will be our garments, rimmed
with fiery trembling in this joy of being alive.
… …
if only for every time I thought of you I could
escape to our Terabithia in the woods
and relive the summer days and autumn eves
showered in stardust whilst our minds inter-weaved.


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