Wisp of gray.

 A hand, cigarette and box of light

Simple scene in the fading night

The wood grain table, worn and old

Whispers of stories, be told.

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Regard my dear.

  In sacred hall where echoes rise. Your voice became my sweetest skies.  And in that moment, time stood still. I felt the heavens lean and sing. As if the angels graced that night. For every verse, a sacred sign- That voice was made to touch the divine.
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Opposite shores.

  The sun reached horizon, waves lapping at your feet, the warmth of sand cradling your dreams, each tide is a promise. Linger in the shadows of tall  pines, where the air is crisp and still, the whisper of rainwater falls, each flake a memory, delicate and fleeting. Two worlds apart, your laughter carried by the wind, my silence wrapped in the frost, in the distance, the ocean stretches wide, a bridge of longing, where souls meet, if only for a moment.
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