Passionate Fiction

tobacco and pipe long forgotten on the stoop chatting at the gate love, Eaton 

sometimes by night while wandering through poetry I find your trail of words open reminding me you’re very much here embalmed in ...

It’s your birthday as unreachable  as you are I see you clearly love  overtakes  any disappointment or regret mother ...

like the petals of a poppy life is short  a burst  a vibrant flame  soon spent falling drifting on the wind to final rest ...

I wander the streets looking searching hoping in vane to find the gateway and when I do I realise a ‘camel cannot  go...