the *snap* of crisp green beans
the smell of the fresh linen
infused with lacy scents
of baked bread lingering
the sound like
*past* and *present* and *future*
period. period. period.
and my heart the ellipsis that lingers
I hear the sound, somewhere between
and a ting
and the tremor of a gong,
the tolling of a bell
I hear the sound of you
and thumping into your tub.
This season could last forever
as far as I am concerned.
This season cannot roll past fast enough
if you want to know the truth.Truth.