East off I-81 the sun blankets my skin;

I crave the terra,

her enormous beauty, immense splendor.

A peck from the sol that still ghosts across my lips at the warmth’s vacancy.

the small of my cheek tingles

where there was a warm presence.

A sweet echo of the willow oaks breathing deep,

the breeze shivers by beckoning me from afar,

the Goldenrods waltzing to the dissonance.

The clouds slink across the sky to sit by the sun;

She keeps spinning

as if I were nothing more than another one night stand.