He doesn't see past the horizon of his life He doesn't indulge in the myth of the hereafter He doesn't believe he is worthy of such a notion He doesn't make it a habit to put pen to paper
But with her...
He envisions the future like he's lived it before He sings of his plans that span several lifetimes He romanticises his thoughts as soon as they're conceived He converses in paintings and writes only in rhymes
Transient action I wonder if he wanted to Geometrically pinpoint constellations Pastel hues in a camouflage fashion Springtime daisy blooms What wicked way comes If she thought she could auto not It was a choir singing harpsichord In street trash gutter subterfuge The tops of trees swayed in the winds With the gated cage striations