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fall, a poem


the sun warms the eucalyptus and the scent of its fallen bark is like un-sugared perfume.

it’s rust and foggy.

these days, I want to be wrapped in linen.

no matter the wrinkles it gives in. 

each crease like a trophy from the day’s triumphs.

nightfall in autumn, the most beautiful of times. 

the sun slowly setting earlier each day.

nights longer, filled with life and warm bed sheets.

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