Praha Myslokova

Time shifts silent sideways.
A many patterned array of
cinnamon painted souls.
Boots following the pulse
of street rivers
and warm shivers.
I cherish the fountain,
all hobo miracles...
Quiver, deliver
the sultry chemistry
of transient transfigured romance.
Beneath cultured ceilings
I take part in the gently woven
symphony of praha myslokova.
Always changing, never finished.