Fibre optic bell jar saves the nonchalent
of imprisoned ancient hiccups,
A silhouette cycle with a thirsty
tongue for perfect sentences,
and you do it well.
I look forward to sunrise.

An intellect,
down trodden with obscure sorrows.
Instinctual preservation drowned with detectable hesitation;
and if there is a safe haven,
I’ll cusp you in a cloud and listen to you whilst you humble.
I look forward to sunrise.

I stem the bracket of skies with a red bandana
filled with whiskey soaked querencia.
Absorbing the storm,
The bolt hold to where you were born.
I look forward to sunrise.

Inhabiting directions to tranquil hideaways,
Sahara desert catches first hand screams in mono;
charting high hue hazes and the speckled moon,
We rest through all its phases.
Just for a moment,
Just briefly,
Lets hold it.
Lets look forward to sunrise.

© Thelma Von Salem @ https://thelmavonsalem.com