T. Russell Bostic
The moonlit night speaks of desperations,
subtle occasions, a rhyme for the seasons. Feelings of an endless era of wonder.
Together, we meet for the first time. Sparkles thrown upon the reflection before me,
we are transcending the place of our dreams.
Together we are here, these feelings I see in you. Whippoorwills cry in the distant night.
Reminding me of the feelings I had lost,
in that lost dimension between childhood and adult.
Adolescent memories full of rage and wonder. She