|
Riding
in the past
Pictures flashing subconsciously with a blast
Film bubbling, erupting, developing fast
Missing
a voice with no choice
A slap that shoots you there
My feet have tickled this grass before
Physical reception blocks the garden door
Senses
taking over, the tides coming in
I'll swim where I've never been
Backstroking isn't a sin
Float forward holding a fin
Postcards
sent through your stares
Fates and fairs propositioning dares
Circle around twice, don't settle for nice
No bets on this vice of sacrifice
Forward
the slide, pause your breath
Rewind to remember only the kind
Release when it's all in a bind
Shadows do not blind
Pull the lid up and shutter to find
There is no such thing as father time
Copyright
© Andrea Suroiu
|