The wayward dove drove to paradise.
Under split wings and partial decay,
under the wooden steps she took her last flight in a Cadillac.
She spoke her secret to no one and the mumbled, fumbled words
transpired into hums from her throat.
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Many pieces torn into shreds, year by year. Fragile bits cracking gently but never mending. To the core that binded never was. We traveled... -
Forgive me for being on this fast track, This train keeps passing the stations I’m suppose to be getting off. A night here in paradise h...
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Time did not stand still It shaped its road for us to leave the past To rain soaked pavements, fallen leaves, high altitudes underneath the ...
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