Soft Cement

When we sailed through the stripped streams it occurred to me that slow steps mean long views and a constant friend breathes in a container fixed with dreams. The brick is loose and the eye slips. When you notice what your eye has upon its surface then the black wisps and wings reveals that nothing is ever totally clear. We heard the calling and gathered in your home but your wall crumbled and nowhere stable remained but only shifting ledges and inessential frames. How do you know when the cement has softened? Is it when the heart cries at eastenders but not for your neighbour? Leaving your home we noticed the stars and questioned the path but found our way to your copse and lit a fire. In the mist of conversation I caught a heavy heart as the shadow of my wandering returned and I drifted away only to be re-centred by a fart. Life is a lot like that and we all need reality fleshed with dreams not dreams rotten with reality.


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