She takes the next flight Southbound…away from the noise of this disquieting disruption… distancing herself from the collective malfunction that contemplates quarantine options as a prelude to panic… My muse makes time to luxuriate in a sandy hammock… as I remain waist deep in margin calls on my resilience… all made from an acceptable social distance… my resistance is thwarted by the persistent insistence of my calling to lead… I’m spiritually present while my body pleads for an escape… desert or island… peninsula or cape… One photo and I am raptured to her exotic dreamscape… caught watching a tape that repeats everyday… I’ll heroically die slow if I stay… she makes me wanna get away… just close my eyes and blow this place… teleport to where Dominican days and nights await… I hear sapient songs sung by a girl who doesn’t date… she slays… and lives like there’s only today… she slays… and loses no sleep over how much she’ll have to pay… she slays… no limits by night and photo shoots by day… she slays… posting daily digital remnants of her wanderlust… and I have come to trust her seductive curation… and how the light on her body intoxicates like luscious libations in her glass… she’s smoldering sensuality wrapped in high society class… pure sass in a bikini, short shorts or an evening gown…and if she ever invites me I will be instantaneously down… dip up out of reality quietly without fury or sound… leave the grind behind and take the next flight Southbound.

Author Anonymous

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