I've spent the past two or three days writing a poem for a project that I will soon be working on for my thesis. The poem goes:

Firey red leaves on autumn trees line the streets of Mulberry and Church.
A kiss traveled from the cherry trees of Washington transformed into a sacred sequoia whose branches mark the veins and vessels within my heart.
Shirley Temples drunken on long nights that seemed never ending. Pink cushioned stools in which my feet cannot touch.
A white tablecloth signals an ending in a red jeep with noses pressed against foggy windows and eyes following street lights aligning a simple childhood fast lived.
The october harvests that fill tummies with promises and satisfaction. Harvest moons colors of red and orange connect our circles soul of ritual and dreams in the night.
Apple orchards off of scenic hills that stretch for miles into past churches and schoolhouses of teachers, desks, chalkboards, books, maps, and projections of the future we hold.
Milk chocolatey tree bark that bubbles and folds as my grandmother stirs the pot with her wooden ladle and gold wedding band still worn on her wrinkled finger as he watches up on the dusty shelf.
Lime shaped moons cut and pasted for decoration into enchanting night skies in which we gaze and ponder creation and departure. Dissolving our worries and instilling hope into our fleshed conscience.
I took a bite and dove into tidepools and waterfalls clear as sparkling stars or glissening crystals that heal our wounds when we plummet unyieldingly into our past memories buried deeply within floor cracks, safes, and book pages.
Blueberry pancakes my uncle made on Sunday mornings followed by sands and seashells encrusted and embedded in summer beach houses where new tides and new thoughts entered kitchens and bedrooms and mellowed into one.
Greetings in driveways from brother to sister and sister to brother all seemed to disappear as rivers stretched on and aged rocks two thousand years. Secrets still hidden, love still shared. Memories stir earthquakes but last like the mountains and stars in the sky.
Long walks through trails and conversations that flowed within rivers we swam. Strawberry summer sunsets that melted away confrontation and frustration but embraced, like the wistful willow, collaboration and cooperation.
Bike rides that lead to abandon houses and forgotten love. Feelings of rushed adulation subsiding slowly to death. Innocence lost, wisdom gained.
Funerals not burying but planting a new life of unity where understanding becomes the essence of growth.