Cinnamon
I thought about...

The Soft Brown color
of your eyes...

Your footsteps have built a metropolis,
yet we remain...

Your words
are fossils...

Hand-knitted dreams
are what I get...

While the rain
redolent...

Subtly,
its fragrance pervades the air...

The horizon
painted loneliness...

In you, I have found dandelions
a multitude of times...

Within
Cinnabar-filled...

And here I am again
getting up from bed...

I remember that July 24 afternoon one yesteryear
as Giant Brocade Crowns bloom in the night sky...