#71 Dream Big, for one more night in Tehran

#71 ┬áDream Big for me One Night in Tehran In the dead still of night we departed toward our naked selves. I should sleep, put myself in Seraquiled storage, like tomes to old flames on never dusty book shelves. I should sleep but I persist in composition; I assume my position, which is two stoags worth of turmoil, A hard vodka shot of past lives living and a bounding whif, of if.   Your sweet smile Polina! Is lyrical. A bountiful gift. To sift through my mind is to tinker with a land mine. SO, I hold my hope inside, … Continue reading #71 Dream Big, for one more night in Tehran