Tear rendered in fabric. A slow down in thought remains hidden, distorting the ‘story’, or could it be a ‘song’?

Take a sip, wash it down, pass it out … don’t hold too tightly. Absorb what is needed, shed the remainder.

Rushing, they leave before me.

You have sung to me … no one else heard.

A wanting notion cannot do it alone.

Will you let Love in?

Will you move when the voice inside you calls?

Dance … dance your beauty into life.

Bottles of roses frozen in time.

Deliberately forgotten and pushed aside.

Does the song end

Or has it just begun?