If he was with she, and she was with he,
who are these others?
Golden flowers wrapped in golden stems,
Silken red fabric on which they lay.
Warmth spreads as a visitor crowds in,
Insistent on utilizing space.
Raindrops on a white coat, slight stains left behind.
No color is not the color to wear while alive.
One who flies, yet does not have wings, is capable of miracles.
Surprised at first, reality sets in as ‘belief’ proves anything is possible.
One alert, one at ease, between the two I lay.
In comfort my mind is free to dream.
A hum, a vibration, are they related?
Does stillness fit in this picture? … or perhaps stillness is not.
It simply is what has become ‘used’ to.
Too close to notice what is real or imagined.