the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Route End 66

A quaint little frame to claim
Stretching its arms out into the sea
Being nudged by the waves perpetually.
Eventually, your eyes adjust
To the sighing sea water
And accented rust.
This memory is robust:
The loudest colors
The brightest sounds
The darkest depths
The highest clouds.
We make mischievous laughter,
Foreboding joyous corruption
A sole light exploding in slow motion.

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