The Highway for Perfume

poem, Uncategorized, writing 1 Minute

The sun sits
Barefoot in the April snow,

Picks up flames and learns the geometry
Of turn and spiral, heliotrope and new wing.

A table on the moon
Wears the highway for perfume.

The sun is no bigger -I swear-
Than your bare feet in the April snow.

Published by Bob Whiteside

Published

2 thoughts on “The Highway for Perfume”

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