(skittering dances upon slightly moistened lips)
winged words that take flight
leaving behind our gently used, yet discarded,
habits
and as the river stares our glances skim atop its taut surface
sending waves and reflections outwards
towards the edges, implications, left behind
like portraits in an ashtray.
Often, he'd see the memories of her
floating as broken habits do
glittering in the dappled sunlight,
one would land upon the lee
of his lip, take flight again
on the backs of winged words,
breathless and squinting
he'd see them grow faint
1 comment:
It was nice speaking with you along the st. tammany trace just south of Abita springs, LA. I was the "cycle tourist in training" on my second night of cyclo- camping. I will be following your travels.Did you stop and get a Abita beer? it was right on the trace. Safe travels!
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