Longings
It arrives in sleep,
this deepest longing,
repressed, forgotten
how much
I used to love
the simplicity of green
and blue against the sun
It arrives in sleep,
this innate remembering,
still alive within my core,
and I am a smaller version
of myself,
the simplicity of blonde hair
bicycle-blown in the summer windIt arrives awake
my hand in yours,
and the only complications
had simple solutions.
© Tanya Southey
#52words52weeks
#monthlymusing
