And The Desert Shines

There’s a certain tinge to timing. When words are worked, and perfect letters lift a curtain in the way they leave some lips. Time tested, for smiles left in airports where I never turned back; and before it’s known, a scene starts moving, unfolded from the former, and people, places are more than walk-pasts and dreams-ons. More than memories in the face of the fatalist brevity of the best encounters. That certain change. The tinge of timing rinses, off-white to bright, and the desert shines to summer.

This entry was posted in between the lines, candid, create, dreamer, drunk poets, memories, notebook, of the heart, once rare, restless and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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