Furrowed forehead, total fixation made evident by frowning faces
Fingers fisted, fighting and floundering in the sea of fate
First sight, then focus, then finally: the chase
Feet first, then phones. Lips: words, fingers: texts.
Finely fluid friction beautiful and familiar fusion.
Freedom from, fought for, though frequently wished farther..
At last frost and fire fill the spaces between flanks
And the farms are filled with seed as the river overflows its banks.
(originally written on Saturday, 24 January 2009 at 18:10)
2 Comments
You’ve got a touch of the poet in you, or you been over dosing on Dr Seuss
**replaces dictionary on book shelf** bros welldone, applauseeeeeeeeeee!