Tuesday Evening

Look for the cold taste of an ice-tapered kiss in the morning of a dew-covered summer.
Undeniably you're certain to be
crying from the sun in your eyes when you see the harvest roll in a playful gale. You're saturated in colour. You're so bright I daren't stare into the glare, but somehow I can't refrain. You're too beautifully brilliant and it burns my eyes. But when I look away and then return my gaze to you I find that you're
gone.