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There were painter’s clouds that day; broiled and tumbled, moving inner silence across an easel. Beneath them a concrete mind mixed and etched one long brush-stroke; the tarmac before us. Excited engines carried us along and carried by us an air befriended... with the convertible top thrown down your hair streamed behind olympic colour; a spectrum of extraordinary. Your head held back a sunrise laugh and all the wind belonged to exhilaration. Ahead of us, the horizon captured another sky, a mist-green hail filled sea; that ominous litany. A pallet knife scratched its lightening and the danger of no potential that kept us moving on. MChallis © 2015
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Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 8:25 PM UTC
Olympic Colour
There were painter’s clouds that day; broiled and tumbled, moving inner silence across an easel. Beneath them a concrete mind mixed and etched one long brush-stroke; the tarmac before us. Excited engines carried us along and carried by us an air befriended... with the convertible top thrown down your hair streamed behind olympic colour; a spectrum of extraordinary. Your head held back a sunrise laugh and all the wind belonged to exhilaration. Ahead of us, the horizon captured another sky, a mist-green hail filled sea; that ominous litany. A pallet knife scratched its lightening and the danger of no potential that kept us moving on. MChallis © 2015
martin-challis
Written by
Australian
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 8:25 PM UTC
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