Gazebo

To the one who always gets away

A gazebo appears as a furtive image adrift in the morning mist, a visual summons writhing within my senses. It’s a dream catcher, a bulwark of memory and aspiration where I’m bound to the romantic errands of unrequited desire.

Yet, it’s comfortable there. I rest on the seasoned wicker, hoarding a collection of heavy-hearted, lightheaded thoughts that amount to vapor, wafting among the…