Still

By the seaside
Along with the books you gift me.
With thoughts that catch on fire
The way they burn to beautiful.
Like the white ash
At the tip of a flame.
The sound of your voice
It's never too much.
Our conversations cherished
Like leaves pressed
Between book pages kept.
And your poetry
That slips into the veins
Of leaves.
I love that
And I am grateful for you
Still.

One thought on “Still

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