hidden comfort with a summer visit left for the feeding of yet again another trip of humility.
while one mourning dove cries out to another
you stay the chase a city and a half away.
pondering many wasted hours,
i recollect the slurred speech of two bodies stirring the juice of a sweet orange,
running upstream into the gaping rivers of where hands meet.
words filled of truth unhampered or merely hollow deception.
content ruined in one hopeful process of creating a love novel objective.
newly carved artistic reference of emotion?
or binding threads beginning to entwine under the patience of a trail uncovered.
29 July 2008