It is almost
That time of year…
When my migratory
Genes tingle the most.
And feeling
Your new blooming
From afar,
I turn to
The rising sun…
And I dwell in
The memories,
And I soak myself
in the blurred
Lines of the clumsy
Portraits of you
That I painted
In the back of
My mind.
The details that
Others would
Overlook.
Your Skagen yellows,
Bagerier smells,
Secret hyggekrog…
Because,
In your arms
I feel free,
I feel home,
I feel
Me.