yesterday i had your life story in my head all day and i was thinking, no mustard coloured dress for you like mine in my dream. no. no. virgin white, virtual virgin, whole person, fragmented whites egg-shell ivory bone off-white cream all of how we lived each other's lives that time it is not about the sway of a railroad carriage where we sit and think and think and work through battle fields with the energy of cold, fresh milk, the energy of seven suns, the energy of thirteen fast moving deserts the sideways sweep of sand that could not bury who we were and we do not mind losing now. i guess at your energy the one in your soul because i know mine and recognise the sometimes tired glow. that i could take your hands in mine and hold them hard for just a while and pass my flow. this white river rafting still
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parallaxis
Poetryparallax /ˈpærəˌlæks/ noun 1. an apparent change in the position of an object resulting from a change in position of the observer 2. an appar...
