‘How many times?’ I cried.
And, you with your demons worn on your sleeve…
You, with your always…conversation ender…
‘Round here, time? What does that mean?’
Tired and fried by erroneous minds…I smirk and say,
‘Time smooths the chips on our shoulders. Time means…
together we grow older but not less bolder.’
I play that moment in time, back, as if it were, only yesterday.
Had it been that afternoon, near the forgotten church?
Some tourist congregation looking for a new summer steeple.
Strange, all that plight, took all the people.
Just me and you and a love so young…
but still so feeble.
Guess this is just my short story.
A semi healthy summer’s past…piece of wordy glory.
Today, a walk in the woods.
Stepping over our common ground.
Your brown eyes the color of innocence and dangerously introspective…
they become part of my camera’s perspective.
We have never been a predictable black and white.
A portrait of landscapes.
A wonderful array of needed colorful mistakes.
A shutter stock of two in play.
I can see forever on this clear day.