Tell me
I am the amber gold
of your fallen leaves,
the ones not found
and pressed
between your pages.
Tell me
I am the winter fog
reminding your lungs
that there’s such a thing
as breathing
under water.
Tell me
I am the green musk
of your budding arms
reaching to a warming sky;
a growing tomorrow
of love making.
Tell me
I am the grains of sun
against the curve
of your soul,
the red to the wanted burn
that will bring about
the tan.
Tell me
I am
alive.
Author T.S. Lowe 