Dreaming of Mars

A nap brought a strange dream. Or I had too much NyQuil.

If hues of red paint the Mars sky, then each sunset is a cosmic lullaby. The rusty glow, a fiery embrace, the universe itself painting with grace. Crimson clouds form a ballet, twirling and swirling at the end of the day.

Martian winds never die, blowing softly, urging me to fly. A canvas of red, a masterpiece divine, where time and space intricately entwine. Oh, darling, in this Martian trance, let's lose ourselves in a sultry dance. The echoes of history etched in the rocks, a language spoken in celestial locks.

If hues of red paint the Mars sky, it's a holiday for dreamers, you and I.
As the sun dips below the horizon's bend, our affair with Mars will never end.

Featured in "Fantasy Newsletter (November 6, 2024)"