The trailing heat of last nights dreams still play on my imagination.
Shadows of the past came to dance and tease, reminding me that not all is here.
Not all is now.
The fantastical has always held a meaningful draw in the near woken wonders.
Thoughts being stronger. Short waves in thunderous storm cast clamor.
Moving chances.
Staggering hopes.
Wiggling crushes.
Slamdanced love.
I just can’t really see it all.
But that doesn’t stop the looking.
