A rugged wind grabs at my skirt,
My legs are now riddled with goosebumps.
The click-clack of my heels,
And the whisper of leaves,
On the cobblestones
Excite me.
The ceraceous moon
Hangs pregnant above me.
Pestering me.
Pushing me.
Forward.
Forward.
Forward.
I’ve been waiting.
For a change.
The seasons changed,
(again)
Before I could.
Monday, November 10, 2008
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