It was the way the purpose beat, intentional and without cease.
Time has passed, but I am still at the edge: of the echo, of myself, and a few words.
I heard something about you, but I know the difference between the Chinese and whispers and I learned once, beside a tree, about how things travel and change, yet it’s strange; I still make the same mistakes.
And I let you stay.
You creep in.
Do you dream about me?
There are places we meet and others we shift, with a glance into each others eyes, as we drift.
It is my hearts incubus.
And it’s nothing to trust.
If I had the chance, if ever it were enough, I would expel your name from me, out across that great canyon of lust and its resounding sky.
I would wait for its return.
Yes, just like it does in dreams.
Though I know. The glimpse of what was, could be and imagined, is just like that reverberating wave, rolling in my heart like tsunami.
And I run.
Parts of me remain: the acoustic of that time.
Repeating, with a depth so beautiful, yet best not described.
I will be heard.
More than once,