a night in a bungalow



the small things will always be appreciated
in kind innocence
its slow descent 
the heart
where I feel the earth
calm 
in the things that make us human
this immediate tang
in seasons
we are vibrant colors
in hope
then there is no tiredness
in being full
that dreams become
leisure
in a stocked pantry
the open air
the mountains
where creaks crawl deeply
our names etched into our skin
that bruises will only be meaningful
as well as
our cheeks will be noticeably
flushed
like a green apple
with a red spot,
when we will run
after the rain
every time the day becomes gray,
we will be warm
so that braveness becomes only a thing
about love.



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