Fall won’t ever fade
and Winter would become just a myth
we tell to our weary-eyed children
as they drift off to sleep

i am golden and ancient, lacquered by memory and layered with history

a scene set to enrapture you, to chain you to a certain crescendo

a harem of sorts

the stage and the lights created the illusion of intimacy, an inorganic nearness.

the great white whale of contentment eludes me

they are a sea of surging words

i’ve been dreaming of a seamless existence