Her Soul softly rose upon enchanting sound,
Trailing her destiny, she glides through rivers of clouds,
It is written; it is destined, could it be undone?
Careless heart, she marches, abandoning all doubts,
Inner call, her only guidance, awakens Soul in the break of dawn.

He's concrete and
I'd love to be sidewalk chalk --
wash me away with rain,
but first let me lay a brief mark of my own
on all of his sidewalk cracks and all of his
broken pieces, the little slabs and pebbles that
weathered off from storms -- let me spill drawings there
with neon bright color
that are almost obscene in their hue.

Yes, I know it's temporary, we're temporary,
but maybe that's what makes it so
magnificent.