Distance, the dissonance insurmountable,would be not the end,but a magnet.When fingertips kiss,they imprint and cement something,that cannot be disintegrated. Time becomes a phantom,the wind becomes an anchor,and old dreams- blankets of warmth.Lull with me, Lady,there is no greater escape.Love and war, even when buttered on toast,still makes for the breakfast of champions.
Dave Matthes, The Kaleidoscope Syndrome: An Anthology
bliss, breakfast, kaleidoscope, kiss, lady, laughing, love, lyrical, poems, poetry, romance, sex, war