Milk by brett nielsen

breeze of autumn whips around my legs

colors of trees slowly fade

Mist that flows from my nose, 

follows me with only the sky as my ceiling. 

manmade structures of warmth towers

still in shorts and flip flops,

the cold, gently sliced across my legs,

hunger cries with in the depths of my hollow stomach
A tear of milk drops into the desert,
clinching between my fingertips.
Drink up.