WET, WILTED AND JOY abounding like flowers in the springtime, wet roadside on a warm May night, and her, beside me, soft so sweet NIGHT rides victorious on the heels of day, retreating The last light lingered on her lips, then void. stop. and creeping, so close, so very close inside NOW cool November and all the trees are on fire Trying desperately to ward off winter with flames The first wayward winds whip wanton snowflakes BEFORE mad January tightens his icy grip around mother nature's jugular, frost bitten in death, staring at her world through algid obsidian eyes
Some great images here, for sure; but it just hangs, like you got sick of writing so you just stopped.
