A short poem
you cannot tether a free spirit
you cannot saddle a wind horse
you don’t have to tell me
darling
chasing el sol
beats
watching the seasons
but
when sprouts spring
and blossoms bloom
with words like petrichor
the world exploding from grey to green
rewarding you for all your suffering
and when the leaves begin to fall
and summer whispers prophetic sweet nothings
just before her final breath
it’s all the orgasm
that I’ll ever need.
Don't miss what's next. Subscribe to The new Sarah Rose: