I always dream of you in Aspen.
Though you are never quite there.
You are always in a snowy dream, muted by the lighting.
The trees cloaked in white, your breath in puffy clouds.
Then the leaves turn. They are gold and red and fluttering.
You always turn the leaves. They blush in your presence.
And, while you are away in Aspen, I am dreaming.
Though you are never quite there.
You are always in a snowy dream, muted by the lighting.
The trees cloaked in white, your breath in puffy clouds.
Then the leaves turn. They are gold and red and fluttering.
You always turn the leaves. They blush in your presence.
And, while you are away in Aspen, I am dreaming.
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