You are like sunday morning,
a simper sun peeping through...

When her time is up,
stay in Paris writing offers...

My heart is an open book
lone in a dusty library...

Discovering new lands,
discovering cures for diseases...

My brow
is creased...

Fingers mostly on the strength,
she is ripe for a big change...

When the burning orange in the sky...
I feel an anxiousness creep in from the shadow of...

Transient high,
meet me at the skyline...

Gangling tree tops roof the wood
Intertwining themselves from where we stood...

A chill of autumn sweeps in
demanding the world to hush...

Your love eats away at me from the inside out,
and picks it's teeth clean using my ribs...

I slumbered in gallows
where swampy silhouettes...