Her hair waves out of a pony-
tailed to flap with the wind
whispering melodies – she leans
slant on her frame
holding her frills, she sways
her frock, shifts rainbows
of fleeting moments - she cares
not
for the ticking needles, meeting herself
again and again…
weaving cerulean dreams kissed
crimson glory
Leaving me in the mirror -
insipid
‘Can I go to play?’ she glides…
away…
yes, please let her play....smiles...so you are seeing your inner child...or the one you once were...love the song of her hair...the cerulean dreams is cool too...smiles...
ReplyDeleteugh on the cable issues...glad i caught you...