my type, feather light in quiet breath, drifts on a whim of fancy. nothing but a song half formed on a fingertip dream in a mad breeze promise. sent, like a road sighing somewhere beautiful and real. lying low, daylight hangs between us there is nothing but nice chit-chat and the memos that remember everything but this.
forget me now 
mimi – thank you so much for visiting here and leaving such a lovely response.
very lovely poetry. lots of anger, sadness. beautifully done. thank you for sharing.