Tuesday, April 30, 2013

no one writes their real love story    the real love story stumbles down the mountains   pulls back    stops to catch a breath    faces memories of the figure forever standing at the edge      forever looking down at a looped path            the real love story gets carried forward     to other mountains      to every mountain since the first     among pine cones, pines, pining still

1 comment:

TC said...

sometimes they do.only cloaked in so much trinkets that you can never tell. but the ones who can always sniff it out...trinkets, filth or gold.