Huckleberry

Shes my Huckleberry.

 

 
She’s My Huckleberry.
 
She Sonders, perfectly imperfect amongst life’s direction-less compass. Copper flickers amongst the crushed leaves, She finds North . In all its forms, dusk through dawn, Ribbon unfurling like poems tumble from her mouth and give rise to sea of gentle muted letters of adjectives, pronouns and verbs. A true Alphabet soup… Her truths surround her, cling to her pores like an invisible summer sweater -a buffer from perhaps the pirated and the volatile realities of the day. . Ember, – light on the brink. in all its possibilities and its sorrows, a projectile, and in its sobering truths, perhaps for the last time a blink. left for the dark and the cumbersome.
Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s