Passion becomes a faint breath in due time.
Abrasive lips with wandering fingertips
have a bitter end.
Nonetheless, my heart reeks of adventure.
An offense to the elderly,
Wide-eyed and wishful,
I behold Beauty's many faces.
More often than not, I journey alone,
Pacing through fields of wild flowers
and dreams.
The irony of pollen painted over my canvas shoes
is, in itself, beauty.
Abrasive lips with wandering fingertips
have a bitter end.
Nonetheless, my heart reeks of adventure.
An offense to the elderly,
Wide-eyed and wishful,
I behold Beauty's many faces.
More often than not, I journey alone,
Pacing through fields of wild flowers
and dreams.
The irony of pollen painted over my canvas shoes
is, in itself, beauty.