Of Mornings and Thoughts
Maybe the ones we really care about are not the ones we sleep with…
Maybe they are the thoughts that wake us up; the ones we wake up with.
Maybe the ones we really care about are not the ones we sleep with…
Maybe they are the thoughts that wake us up; the ones we wake up with.
Nippy mornings… pages, notes, dances of pen on paper, red, blue, a fever, a longing… branches outside… full dry foliage, …
In the distance, the structure loomed, resting complacently against a backdrop of grey dewy sky. Chima pushed a button and glanced at his watch. More than glanced actually. Watched. He watched the sweeping hand measuring seconds, illuminated by built-in incandescence…
Like the sun
she is to be loved from afar
as her colours burn
and rays spar.
That Friend
The morning it happened, was like any other. He was driving. They were headed for a resort, a weekend getaway, for a taste of ocean air and night. It was sunrise and little sparks of light were shooting at him from behind trees. She was by his side, they were arguing about something he couldn’t remember. It was intense. He got to the turn… took it…
And here we are… like lightning tousled clouds before a storm.
… Seven rains after…
Originally posted on THE VOICE:
“The public is increasingly disgusted with a steady diet of defamation, and prepared to reward those…