Stumbling home from totems and spiked smoothies 3AM as you seemed to wait patiently, wearing thin. Would you like some company I’m back at Willoughby now. no I’m going home, hope to see you tomorrow.

shrugged, relaxed, winding, the bed was comforting as energy somehow surged in the early morning. Vision blurred with a bright white screen under tapestries of color and an overturned bedpost. I loved its texture and height acting as an industrial canopy, against the soft billowing curtains, stapled to the white concrete. So hazed I could not hear your soft footsteps approaching and the door suddenly opened behind me. we greet one another as you sat down beside me, and we started to watch Herzog’s personal and subtle words and visions of ancient artists and lives from the small white screen. your blurred silhouette darkened as the crevises of your deep eyes dialate and focus.

Inaudible time passed as finally we were lost but not searching and wished not to be found. entangled in color and those Forgotten Dreams, a bridge jumped with surprising ease and startling indulgence. The air is sparce yet was the most full it had seemed in far too long. 

Seven days sway from winding lines. Roadtrips of heart, and time passes without rational perspective sending us through portals of elongated seconds and freeze frames of your kind, sincere presence. deep dilated dimensions dance