Mente Mezcla

Silver shadows stalk in stillness. what is closed yields. and i feel you there, at the crux soiled stones washed free in wind and rain... (the brook bubbling like the lava that heats it deep within.) My leg still curves across your body in dreams contained, frozen Tupperware solid and the trees whisper, "we peaked through your windows that night." taunting, deliberate leaves shaking their laughter at our folly.

The danger of running in shoes that don't give you solid footing is that you could trip. But to trip is to stumble upon something new and leaving one shoe behind isn't all that bad if the someone who finds and returns that flipped flop, your grounding, is yourself.