Psychic Air

 Long after we're both gone.

Words will still not impress what you mean to me.
My spirit hung on the edge of time.

That 'Raison d'etre'

The blurred-choice... a line between reason and action.

That's where the times we met would fit.
And how we would have our moments.
Conversations inside the cave between minds...
Filling in the psychic air with our lungs...
Releasing out an unmistakable silence.

So let us leave that window slightly open,
So we may feel the scent of that sweet - sweet Pembrokeshire breeze.

MA2024