R.S.V.P.
Images bend and blend. The story spins and twists in on itself. Time into time. A whirling tunnel of feelings misunderstood. And missed understanding.
The truth, in disguise again, with customary gift. The nearness of me. Of those I know. As if skins have risen, fallen; eyelids shivered.
Again. Gatsby self. Unseen. Unseeable. And then I am not the host, but a visitor in my life.
Only as I leave I feel it. Passing me. A single breath on the air. An invitation to return.
R.S.V.P.
Dream
The truth, in disguise again, with customary gift. The nearness of me. Of those I know. As if skins have risen, fallen; eyelids shivered.
Again. Gatsby self. Unseen. Unseeable. And then I am not the host, but a visitor in my life.
Only as I leave I feel it. Passing me. A single breath on the air. An invitation to return.
R.S.V.P.
Dream
posted by timeintotime at 2:04 PM
2 Comments:
masterful. and i don't dream no more.
got to borrow trans's adj. here, masterful!!!
i can see your writings becoming my favourites!! loved this!!!
thanks! keep writing like this.
Post a Comment
<< Home