At first,
My heart was a rambling contradiction...

Hope is a bird that dies outside
my window every morning...

Your soul is a harvest gold
phone booth...

I remember the frantic
clicking, as I searched for...

My acrobatic butterfly,
if you simply twist and spin this way...

She has always blossomed like the rose of Juliet,
Waiting for the night echoes to love her once more...

Love is when the sun's brilliance never dies
but lives eternally inside your heart...

I ponder to my mother loudly,
over the pulse of the steel blender...

I stay inside now,
though you wish to serenade...

I am drafted to your scent,
far past dusk's arrival...

Are words enough to remember me by?
I wish I had more to give you...

I always sketch our memories from a morning's...
where a plethora of birds look beyond their sleepy...