The Shape of…


The shape of grass

is a cricket.


Sound of silence,

stone baked in the sun.


Smell of love,

a bouquet, reds and white.


Every year, grass whispers to the frost

to turn towards Spring.


At times silence

conveys all I need to hear.


Love sometimes tastes

of strawberry gelato.


Other times, blueberry.

It used to smell of bleach.


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