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Lexington Poetry Month

highway 347


this memory the scent of spring
a hill above a highway where
we would bake beneath the trees
and silently sing to the notes of
passing cars and surreptitiously dance
leaving our backs and limbs
tattooed by grass and scarred by rocks

2 responses to “highway 347”

  1. mtpoet says:

    Great ending with those two final lines…

  2. Karah Stokes says:

    I freaking love this. It shows me an everyday scene as an almost religious experience.

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