AURAS of a different JUNE

The Dutch Flower

Remarkably couched, TeeVee and a gratifying notebook connector
A two hour western movie,
A good bounty hunters cigar,
The honest confidence of a liar
And a sunburnt tobacco’s brevity
Aspiring french blonde writer’s scribbling, ignoring the blue cocktail tall,
She calls again, and we talk of her cat’s wrong face, a wood worm’s catcall
Could have invited them both to drink by my solitary waterfall

Immediate realities of a three year old’s pristine sundae expressions
Friday wind-bathing Dutch flower, blushing reflects in a sun shades mirror
Reaffirming the truth of elusive faces, like the poets struggle for a key metaphor
A Japanese frog’s lovelorn monsoon cacophony, jealous green- skin cover
Her mind-fermented songs waking up to new reflections,
An impulsive hum, she sounds like dead songwriters ruminations,
New poets with proven tenets like age-old meat and smoke fascinations
A young food photographer, bacon answering bikini-round contest questions,
Childhood friends updating on their newborn creations,
It must be natural to ask is it a boy or a girl without parental emotions
Child-like prayers and vitamins, capsules with football fan hair colors,
A toast for you, my auras of June , indispensable bread to my cheese and butters.

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