Winter hands, cold clasps,
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the memory filters into something lucid, a salty drop on my brow,
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a once brilliant residue now over rich, segments collide,
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is this the place you hide when the warmth goes away?
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I'm not thinking about tomorrow,
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cause there's a six letter word tat- inside my head,
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take all of your thoughts, put them aside,
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we are frozen in time, but I might step away,
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but I'm not turning my back on you,
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I'm not closing, our thoughts and words are crystallized in ice,
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no sense in trying to bring them back to life,
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thaw them out, you will find that they are disjoint,
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a new configuration.
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Maybe it's better to live in sleep in constant dreamscapes.
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What is reality anyway?
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-----------------
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Sun Falls And Water Shine
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| This Day Forward |
