It was the robins egg blue sky
Blowing the whiteness of kitten clouds that caressed the windshield
Etched on a notepad bouncing on my lap
Ink leaking in states unfamiliar.
Spritzed under the canopy of a Germanic facade
We almost bought a bookstore
With an apartment upstairs
And a laundry room
The highway asphalt burned my soles
The sky dropped lower; like a collapsed ceiling
He was driving into his dreams
Suitcases left open for impulse stops
Riverwalk; in wet steam that clouded my head
Touched by the exotic aroma of jasmine
Slouching on a rib of wealth
And then it was over
Collected in memoirs
Old clothes and postcards
San Antonio; slipped away on a lily pad in the river
The inner voice where gaps of expression are liberated. 
Now that was truly an original. Almost like living a daydream poem. Beautiful read.
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