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.