Remember that roof at the top of the hill
where the silence grew thick
as the rain disappeared

where the fervor would shrink
as the twilight got near

where the mornings would sink
with the scent of your skin.


Remember that hill in the midst of the trill
where the blue grass penetrated your will

where the scent of the rain hankered your lips
to imbed a kiss on the brink of my lip.


Remember that kiss at the top of that hill
where the rain on the roof never ceased to exists

where the silence of your skin only grew thin
as the blue grass whispered in your ear
“kiss her until the morning is here.”

Written by: Lucero L.




Note: Experiment.



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