The moonlit night speaks of desperations,
by T. Russell Bostic
subtle occasions, a rhyme for the seasons. Feelings of an endless era of wonder.
Together, we meet for the first time. Sparkles thrown upon the reflection before me,
we are transcending the place of our dreams.
Together we are here, these feelings I see in you. Whippoorwills cry in the distant night.
Reminding me of the feelings I had lost,
in that lost dimension between childhood and adult.
Adolescent memories full of rage and wonder. She whispers to me in playful laughter, and I smile.
Our eyes speak of longing feelings. . . hidden beyond words. Casting aside all inhibitions and doubts.
They swim together, in the lake of their dreams.