A Nonchalant Impression

It is far away,
a place where a silver shimmers
lies between two worlds;
one glaringly familiar,
while the other whispers a symphony to the senses.

I have to go there sometimes,
by breaking through a delicate border,
just to distant the notions from order,
and breathe with a purpose,
in a moment
where the perfect dance wafts far from the imaginary
and the drops of whiskey
melt like honey on the tongue,
and the room fills with warmth
from the smiles of all who are dear
that have been treading faithfully
along the same trek
and the sunsets glows in a golden hue
as time becomes a nonchalant impression

I go there sometimes,
but it really isn’t that far away.