A thousand bees buzz around in his head as he floats in the ever flowing river, catching glimpses of memories he thought he had forgotten and while his worries dive to the bottom and bury into the mud and honey spreads in his mouth, he lets himself be caressed by the waters and when he breathes them in, poppies stick in his nose and he smiles at their scent and as he comes up for air, he can almost touch the pleasure dome of Xanadu.
Posted by Beatrix MGN on March 22, 2014
https://abolg.wordpress.com/2014/03/22/floating/
From Scriptor Obscura. Visit her at scriptorwrites.wordpress.com
From Scriptor Obscura. Visit her at scriptorwrites.wordpress.com
From Poetic Parfait. Visit her at poeticparfait.wordpress.com
From Lostupabove. Visit her at lostupabove.wordpress.com
From Sandylikeabeach. Visit her at sandylikeabeach.wordpress.com
From theImaginator. Visit him at theimaginator.wordpress.com.
A Bolg? 
awordofsubstance
/ March 22, 2014I like the image of worries diving to the bottom.
http://www.awordofsubstance.wordpress.com
W. R. Woolf
/ March 26, 2014Thank you, I’m glad you liked it.