FIRST GLASS ROAD
She draws her breath
in watercolour segments
the long Grey, charcoal road spreads
as a feast waiting to be blessed
Ritual dressed crystal lakes
bleed into forgotten burnt horizons
She arranges in purpose
the warm sunglasses
ruffles the peacock's male dream
staring
She wonders
if he will remember the first glass
age had dappled her skin
beauty creased against youths
playful mind
She eased from the old leather car seat
brushed the olive green skirt
leaning on times harder decisions
smiles queue to turn in flicked gestures
She Wonders
will he remember the first glass
Each threaded step
collects meanings kidnapped moments
the sun is hung high
Green dancers
flash and scurry
as the wicked breeze stirs
Seated back on the cracked vintage seat
a walnut fairytale dashboard
and a charcoal melting road
the key made a comforting sound
as the trapped beast
fled
AND SHE STILL THOUGHT
WOULD HE REMEMBER THE FIRST GLASS
Β
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