The Soul of the Moment – A Quintilla

the soul of the moment, buried ‘neath the rust of moments that passed like smoke, wistfully waning. cast to grey tides, swallowed ‘neath, carried listlessly out to oceans vast.

Smoke Signals

breathing smoke billowing plumage erupts cascading powdered puffs passing unobstructed peeling distending undulating traversing stagnant air on a breeze of sour breath stained teeth yellowed and calcifying tartared tarred tainted teal tendrils turning jellyfish autonomy unaware floating in fluid free fall flowing between us