As I toss a silver coin into the mango contoured fountain, a lilac laden tone
that reeks of flower garden ether archly probes.
“What somersaults bewitch those forehead rivulets when synchronising waves of rhythmic thought?”
Psychic or clairvoyant
  on this steamy summer’s day probing quizzically behind her crystal shades.
She really looked quite stunning in her black ink Forest hat, and the  green leek blouse that flopped upon an indigo blue denim skirt so worthy of those flash iconic catwalks.
Apple blossom cheeks and almond  blushes rounding off the very essence of a bubbly new age sprite.
“What unfolds  on expressions or the batting of an eyelid can reveal what’s beyond  the sharpest mirror, pool or light.”
I meekly chimed in prim delay.
Our thoughts can often harvest dreamt-up pearls, ooze sweat  from figment pores, while those inner sensors squeeze a harassed brain set to exude some magic flight bound lantern gem.
Fortunes can be made from noon day musing if one  scratches deep enough on mystic brows.
Without an inkling or a cautionary whisper this  daughter of dimensions from the eeriest beyond,  phantom, spook, mirage, dropped out of sight.
A pale blue spotted purse from  where she stood was all that’s left of this early bird ephemeral encounter.

 

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