365D109

Listen to the words being said. The truth, lies before, beneath, beside. Hear them, these words, perspective of a man. Vision, sight, look, see these eyes, raining, clouds, stars shining bright. Scents flowing through the room. Smells of fresh cut flowers in the winter, impossibly true. Apple pie cooling on the window seal, frozen by the winters chill. Hopes and dreams are all but lost, toes wiggle in morning frost, red in color and do not feel. Broken hearts, may someday heal. The fur of a cat, skin and bones. Paint on fingers, tear down cheek, waves coming in, splashing but weak. Salt from the waves lingering on lips, the wine, bitterly embrace on the tongue, words spoken but never clear. To be heard or seen, precious of means, understood unlikely, only in dreams, known by frightening glimpses of despair. Remember or forget, but never really care.