Dusky Musky Ophelia

Ophelia is outside my house. Painting the very air in cinnamon hues. Swirling past garbed in widow’s weeds. Spiraling off strange currents. There is musk and spice in the air: The tail-end of lusty desires. The very air resonates with a heady tang and bated breath This storm blows.   Copyright Tom Tide 2017   … More Dusky Musky Ophelia

Room with a View

House of all seasons. All seasons, turned willy-nilly. Salt-mist crystalized one month: azure lenses the next. The entire curved ocean a stage to gaze upon. Storms were best, with their hiss and slap of surf. Sharp cracking strafe of current-honed pebbles. Bay window-watching, mug in hand. All topsy-turvy on the Buckled floor In this building slowly … More Room with a View

Never

It may be cold. There may be wind as harsh as a blade. It will soak me to the skin. Yet it will never. Ever. Be repetitive.   © Tom Tide 2017