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?