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