her tinderbox mindburst into flames of mad sadness's at any momentthat will burn like a river of tearsshe will strain at speaking just the right words..
perhaps it was his love forthe salt and the seaperhaps upon the desert of waveshe awaited a vision to awaken his dreaming heartsome beautiful illusion..
her critical thinking gone astrayher tupperware mind seals in the flavor of her intentsnail polish chippedno ring to show the lay of the landbright ey..
she gathers them up holding them gently in her armsthere are more every daylike harvesting flowerspick them when they are in full bloomshe walks baref..
the promise that her tenderness has no fencesmade her linger on my mindlike a rough bottle of fine wineand as the evening rolled back daylights clutte..
the dead poet of your romantic youthleft behind his melodious words in songleft behind his roadside fast eyes neatly packagedstill can purchase his dr..
she says she cant feel anythingas she is cutting shapes of butterfly's into the paper thin draws little rivers i cant swimbut she smiles and says that..
greyhound station quarter to three amin the rainshe is sitting on the bagsplaying a vampire movie on the kindlethe screen lights her upas she leans in..
sitting on the floor barefoot in a baby blue dressperfections dreamscape hewn in laceromance flower of such gentle strength and such sweet gracemy lif..
me and scarlet came down the coastshe sat window seatpressed to the glass watching the world flow from rocket ships headed to the skiesand beach bunni..