White, wispy, cappuccino-foam clouds
I imagine them disintegrating in my mouth,
like marshmallows
The log burner crackles and spits raging orange fireballs, that explode in to nothingness with intense metaphorical desire
Story-telling songs play, predicting predicaments, provoking thoughts of the simplicity of taking this moment
Singing tunes of promises and reading minds, in a forest of thoughts on pine scented pathways
In my log cabin dream, you are here
A sanctuary of wilderness combusts in to freedom
Telling me your secrets, you trace intense, poetic sketches on my skin
And like the snaking smoke of incense, they evaporate in to the air
As if they were never there