The narrative begins at a point in time,
Somewhere adrift at open seas
Where polymorphic abstractions surfaced
The blends of life,
Dancing and prancing along these envisioned
Waves
Splash of color there
Dash of color here
A streak
A twirl
A visage of refraction on the fringe
Of her hair: A path
And
In ambiance we once strolled
This path to elliptical essences
Green, green, green, red,
Hypnotized in fervor, but alone I lapsed
In seconds,
In minutes
Into pages of scores
She, my lore to
Dimensional shifts of dreams and open doors
That I once wished to stroll through
Along with her
But now I smoke in absence of her exhale
Her spliff to my lungs: distant and regretful.
Fragmented.
The Swing Set to me is what The Thinking Chair is to Steve.