Walking around in the damp mist… I get a whiff… of something…
something familiar… but I don’t go looking for you… it might disappear… and then I will have neither the whiff nor you…
It’s not the first time… nor will it be the last…
I will walk into you… here, there and I guess lots of places…
almost everywhere…
clutched fists have seemed precious always…who knows what they hold…
lest you open them, to find… well to find nothing but meaningless space…
M I N D ..... B L O W I N G
ReplyDelete() - my comments are like clutched fists - until they are open it hold so many complements...
:) hmmm well thanks i guess... rest i'll decide once your fists unclench!
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