the little fluffs
of cotton float
upon the gentle
autumn gusts
the fragile hands
of human flesh
reach to grasp
the little fluffs
the moving air
from moving hands
sends the fluffs
away.
the little fluffs
of cotton float
upon the gentle
autumn gusts
the fragile hands
of human flesh
reach to grasp
the little fluffs
the moving air
from moving hands
sends the fluffs
away.
handkerchief tied to stick 
I wish there was a word for this kind of poetry… It’s not anywhere it’s everywhere. The fluff could be anything. I love it. Please keep writing.
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Aw, shucks. I like you.
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