Breathless Moments

Barely six and the bustle winds through depths of lost descent where reality hunts the night dreaming of incoherent content here dusk drifts off ever deep butterfly float on off to sleep in wings of the dormant pine almost silently still, she weeps but all I hear are angelic voices begging on moonbeams to fly breathless meaningful moments singing in every teardrop cried vous avez pris mon souffle as I placed my hands upon her heart a path opened to intimate ardor and a pleasingly inauspicious start