so I smelled of Gray.
A teardrop on the cork floor, I smeared it with my thumb.
Silhouettes of branches, Myth plays tauntingly.
My lips turn in quiet appreciation.
So much to give, and surely to receive.
Is there a more beautiful place than the land of my imagination?
Where I paint in magic oil and breath,
where wind grazes my skin and carries my scent to my lover.
chest swells, a heart lifted.
The air is alive with electricity.
Flowers blossom from thoughts, more vibrant than colors of this world.
All these pictures, images of grace.
Memories, dreams, perhaps I have created it all.
I hold my heart open to gather more and share entirely.
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