OUR MAN in BELIZE: "CASTAWAY."
It's not OVER dear Heart, though wagons of Time roll horizons into well-deserved oblivion, nor friendship vacuum and ambitions dissolve, fine-point, script into verbiage, no wit, joke, laughter, a cunning smile? ALL is UN-lost as it was never uncovered. Yesterday. Footprints. Beaches. Places for a campfire. Idiots and Sunsets.
It's not over Cheri. Love's BLOOD clings to your mortal coil like sickly virgin olive oil. The stuff stone-ground heralded by yellow-tongued Vipers. U can meet them. Or maybe YOU. Are one? Do U slither?
It's not OVER, over, over, like a frozen un-crashing WAVE; an emotion that singles U out, extends U the spray... but will NEVER release U, to dance, shimmer, on a paradise beach where the braindead trace footprints... and then, yet, to withdraw again, the beach, out of reach?
It's not OVER my love? Never! Locked-eternal, as we R in Love's-THORN matrix? A Calypso in the AIR, unattainable like a shooting star!
c. 2023, sept. dave delacroix/david michael oxley, corozal, belize.
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