Thought.is

That Mother Nature
is maker of no mistakes
that we are not “oops children”

lately
my mind is a dreamy soup
Yours, polished rosin.
I stand grey as a doorway

When life fails, dreams will come up later, like vomit.
It’s always been later – we watch dusk anyway.
She’s graceful near nightfall

At the venue, we caught first sight of love, just not under the strobe lights.