Nothing On But The Radio

Soaking in the sunshine, 

Basking on a warm slab of granite,

The river whispers,

 

The smell of clove on my skin,

Mixes with vanilla scented lotion,

And my hat is blown away on a breeze,

 

A bird is bathing beside me,

In a small pool,

She does not mind my nakedness,

 

A single early leaf,

Flutters lightly from the tree line,

Like a butterfly, it lands on my shoulders,

 

I smile in summer lassitude,

Even as the foliage yellows,

With fingertips trailing the current.

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