Floetic Reveries. Dances within melodies.
Trickles down the fence lines.
A whispered wind. To soft to be a cry.
A hotel guest list. A hopeless romantic trying to keep
your cigarette lit. To walk through fate. For they say, it's set in stone.
But placing down the bricks. So that you can call it your own.
I walk outside and see the drizzled rain turn to mist below the street lights.
The filtered sounds of bass fluttering beyond the satellites.
Staring at this ceiling trying to get that night's rest.
Days go by. The sun. Rises. The sun. Sets.
