Stage

In an empty space at the back of my head is a stage where each evening or night there are plays.. of moths and flames, photos and frames..sea beds and oceanic water, time forgotten streets and intersecting lanes.
No matter what the story its premises are the same. Plots have twists and screenplays are lame.
An imaginary world I'd like to see. Where everything is perfect and us are 'we'

The stage is set imagination runs wild. Everything's extravagant, enlarged, emphasized.madly limitless there's no place for mild.
Love scenes are abundant, of melodrama there is none. Full on fiery action scenes, gut load of guns.
Dialogues are rich and music is raw. Look as you might there isn't a single flaw..all but one, that there is none.
It runs at all time with no fixed story line.
Shot mostly in dream sequence, vanilla scented, beautifully demented. Scenarios tend to be a little steep, exceptionally engrossing. Immoderately deep.
Brilliantly coloured in rainbows eighth shade, directed to dazzle to glitter and scintillate.

In liquid haze of merging light, the scenes mingle sans wrong or right. Spaces and seas, mountains and mines. Desert roads and forests of pines.
Of fantastical backdrops there's nothing excluded. My stage of fantasies with a cast of two. One is I, the other is you.