Rolling in like an Indian summer
Just when I was getting sick of the cold
Warm words of interest and intrigue
Curious of my quiet life I’ve come to keep
Maintained neat, with space only enough for me to breath.
Familiarity prying my doors shut, preparing for the storm
Eyes and ears sending warnings to my heart
Ignoring them, standing on the edge, holding on to anticipation
and regret
Wondering on which side I’ll benefit.
Shorter and shorter they seem to last. Maybe less affecting is
the glass
Penetrating my inner mind…the Indian summer…what a disguise
Slowly descending into what I anticipated with nothing to
regret.
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