I hear your name in the dripping from the faucet as I lie awake at night (which is odd because your name doesn’t even rhyme with “bloip”)

these sparkling things call me onward turning burning yearning flitting through the air laughing blinking winking staying just ahead over there never here never near glimpsed briefly teasingly through the mangroves and spanish moss beckoning twittering through the sodden rotten vegetation dripping calling tripping falling slipping under the brackish water looking up as these earthbound stars dance and play above me

!http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v205/Famishus/nighttrain.jpg! Sometimes the perfect person to confess your innermost desires and fears to is a stranger on a train. No commitments, no judgments - just an ear in which to pour your dreams and fantasies. The night outside the coach window reaches in and cloaks you, and the rumble of the steel wheels masks your fevered murmurings. We were heading for the same place. A city once built on dreams. But as happens so often with dreams, the joy had l...