He thinks he sees her

at the exhibition of surrealist dreams

perfect hair flowing serenely

through the semi darkness

shining at times amongst the curious visitors

on opening day

Alone in solitary thoughts

messages that matter

in her back pocket

not like Magritte

more like reality

on a Sunday afternoon

Beautiful memories invented

unreal and dissolving before us

like words and pictures

shared dreams in boxes

He waits for her at the end

unsure of his persistence of memories

that never were after all those years

Still miles away

©Ash Cheyne 2021

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