She sprouted daffodils under the sun,
tiny hands adorned in dirt labeled...

Needles prick softly along my spine
just before Autumn, pine cones whisper...

I wasn't the first to enter
mother's womb...

My head intertwines
with billowy clouds...

A Woman's face withers
upon a morning sun...

I pondered life
while shopping...

Wicked iris's lurking,
dungeons smolder in...

Shades of mint devour
a senseless soul...

There is a small tin can
diagonally placed from my vision...

He will always be her Billy-
With her eyes...

Wintry kaleidoscopes form prisms
within a mind filled with grief...

My nature's salad
Is sweet Johnny Smith's...