Fading memories

While listening to the sound of rain and Dylan's cup of coffee, alone as usual at my place, a thought to the past, that already seems so strange and incredible.  While the haulbag lies dying in my closet.  One day, I have to come back to at least free the Astroman...one day, back to the vertical realities, lots of air below, the only way being up.  Dirtbagging used to be fun, and bears the only constraint on the mind flow. 

Your breath is sweet

Your eyes are like two jewels in the sky

Your back is straight your hair is smooth

On the pillow where you lie

But I don't sense affection

No gratitude or love

Your loyalty is not to me

But to the stars above

One more cup of coffee for the road

One more cup of coffee 'fore I go.

To the valley below.