by Walter Rooks

I am on top of clouds descending,
looking down on sunsets
echoing red skies,
burning off the dark-blue blankness of today,
drifting into nothingness and everything; yellowness-
wanting to touch tomorrow now
with sweaty palms and dry lips, 
three thousand miles and one delay away
from you.

583 by Walter Rooks

© Copyright 2005. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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