there's a picture of sunflowers, my favorite

by far. one 

leans apart from the bunch, rests

it's head on the wooden fence.

in my mind's eye, 

a visible sigh in it's face

it's posture affects --

and though time accelerates, 

there is still gold in the lines of my face,

some days    the light catches

and warmth Ihold in my pockets

for days like today, I drizzle it on my tongue. 

&my insides are wrapped in dusty glow

from eons before

I began to wilt