I implored upon my palms;
decades in correspondence
headlights torching treelines;
swirling curves we rose,
unravelling—
folds of the sky in essence.

All my dreams lost in plain sight;
expanding pupils—
shaking quill-tips,
the ink may never dry
the ganges of the endless
idled;
akin to a goddess,
right before my mortal eyes.

“Where do we go?”
the...