i sit on a evening.
sniffing spring breeze deep
deep enough that my blood can have spring cells.
i see the world falling asleep.
i fade away like thin layer of paint.
air in every crevices.
freshness that is not hot from no possession.
world always has come low.
get's deeper.
winds building houses in every crevice and
tired words in early mornings.
and...
incurable sunlight on your shoulders..
a worn journey from roads to memory.
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