Lost in valleys of the smoking hills

a highway runs with no beginning and no end

winding down to a mouth of fire

and never reaching it

Only to watch the world devoured at a distance

the infinite road grown ever shorter

as it, too, falls to the flame

At the dusk to slip under a new veil

nothing but an empty sense of longing left behind

and a hillside with its eyes fixed on the rising moon

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It’s getting to be that time of year again where I start drinking an almost problematic amount of tea every day.

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Photo by Ferdinand on Unsplash