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.

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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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