Counting time in beats of your heart and falling prey to a lost moment in mist.
I’m off again, carried by fae to chase the things that fly.
Lost in the epitome of the representation of this thing you call a raindrop and maybe I’ve lost sight but I think its the ocean suspended.
What mischief is there to fight impassioned decisions when we can string our home between flowers and carry on with daily romances?
I say we flee. Run wild to the other secrets we keep with the confidence of a lamb chasing a tiger in the dark.