in some quixotic place,
there is the figure and the face,
whose mind transcends that secret space-
she winds new memories
like ribbons round the helix threads of destiny-
altering perceptions, light and sound
when i turn around-
and find her watching me.
two beads, bound by natures mime,
consent to dance a tango on the silent strings of time,
oblivious to other fruits, that ripen on the vine-
Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. 2009. INSIDE OUT. All Rights Reserved.