Poem: Crystal Lights at Night

Gliding fingers cross paint-stained tables of noir,
Ivory memories at Ikea. Light years ago.
Pouring over books and media to pass time.
Working; the in-between. Trying to prove to
Me. So, I can be there for your own self-mastery.
A real-life retelling of a sophisticated masticated menagerie of our fleeting reality.

Advertisements