Lights like how you imagine them, all perfectly lit to the evening; not to scrutinize anything, but to allow you to feel the deepest of dreams – it’s a feeling dammit, you fill it all in as you go – next time you fill it all with local analgesics from your recent trip to 2012, or perhaps color it in with temperatures from some of your Sumeria summers. These aren’t quantifiables. They are vivids of the imagination, a glimpse of you.
You can’t slip quietly through any cracks.
I had something I was writing you; it wasn’t a sonnet or anything like an ode, limerick, or quatrain-no it was just something-nothing like a burlesque, or villanelle; you know it had shape, sound and visual! Perhaps a rondeau is well in order, but not until you wait in line.
I’m a firm believer that when you work hard at something, and I mean truly work hard… You can appreciate the master work we happen upon in this life beyond what the innocent eye can see-yes you can stare for a long time and just keep seeing depths, while the others walk by only moments later because they have seen the mirrors surface, and none of the movements that brought it about, none of the steps that brought it before them.
A night with you, is always the shortest night of my life–Before I know it the sun strikes me across the spheres. We’re not anywhere near the…hush, it’s not a dream you can just leave.