salmon

Black salmon souls cover trouble and hide woes, while secretly they pray to open the log and scratch an hour more, only the other day a thought stray barking up the inner ear wished for more years, another cumbersome salty tear to cleanse that acidic exterior; for more misty miles down in the valley where children giggle and maidens file. To allow renewed fresh whites to gander upon tomorrow’s most cathartic night. Ready some freshly stretched sinew and a Da Vinci coded smile, if it comes dusk tomorrow is for salmon fishing on the Nile.