Perfect overhanging telephone cable shoes,
mocking under a desert breeze,
   torn ***** chucks that leave their mark,
           on a dark tapestry full of imagination.

Counting pennies in a stream,
children hypnotized by lovely tunes,
   desperately trying to buy scribblers for they come in two,
      two beautiful pops of multiple hues,
          dancing in synchrony,
                only to be ripped part,
                   under the desert breeze.

you were my scribbler. . .
  such a sweet memory,
     of two souls in a romantic setting,
           if only I had known,
                 I would say goodbye. . .

-ѕ¢яιввℓєя