Of sorts

Of a sort on the edge of the just beyond

At a fork on a pebbled road between

Mountain and sea

At the end of a pier

Curled toes over worn woody edge

All the unsaid

And the volumes spoken in silence

Between the one glance and the next

Today? A year from now? The mystery

Of least expected

Ah the randomness of being 

Of sharing space breathing the air

Where one has passed one temporarily

And the uncertainty so fuelled by

All of the unknowing

Of the never ever

And the maybe wanting

Of the almost needing- just

Just managing to look past and beyond the obvious 

Point where there is no sure safe fail return

No true love story that's for sure

But a story still- continuum of being in suspension

In-between happen stance/pure certainty

The threshold from within without

And the surrendering to infrequent continuity

Time passes colours change and

This story remains re-writing memory

In patterns random- so, so breathtaking

Strangeness of strangers meeting fleetingly

Tossing and catching thoughts in passing

Amid the chaos of a carefully divided living

Mostly a wish for never stopping

No serial and mundane conversations

No flesh on flesh creation of reality

No need and fear and greed

Dishonesty

No loss

Transferred through ink and

Tears... no scrunched up papers tossed

In landfill

Worse still- recycled 

Bleached of emotion and of memory

Tragically wiping some miss-managed fat arse

No!

This is a love story

Love is ethereal

The end not