The mountains galloped down today all around me riding hard the dragons in the sun in an armor of mist seeking your runaway eyes at an edge of my dream.
I grasp shuffling steps in the haze on a Sunday morning flea market, the smell of rancid cheese, dewdrops on your hair and perhaps a fleeting smile when you once looked back hesitantly perhaps trying to locate a truant cloud between us.
It was the river flowing within the city that finally found you in the rampant solitude of a monastery as my moustache brushed against your breast in a timeless night-song.
