Take me away.
Lead me to a little house
on a hill, picket fence
enclosing the fresh lush garden.
Lead me to the front door.
Let's make this our home.

We'll lie in the meadows
during Sunday afternoon picnics.
Children's laughter chiming,
while I'm wrapped in your kisses,
embraced in your warmth.
Let's make this our home.

When the rain storms down
on the roof ahead, and
our frustrated words like
lightning darts around the room.
Open your arms and forgive me.
Let's make this our home.

None of the words seem right without you.

Fireworks and vivid chaos,
blinding lights in the pitch black sky.
The sudden gregariousness,
cross-dissolving into one's sigh.

Back home in a blanket,
hot chocolate in hand.
A wandering mind, hardly cognizant,
unleashing one's disguise.

With the shutter open
to evacuate life's scenes,
revealing only those broken
in one mind's eye.

Fading rapidly from awareness,
once immersive, now an indistinct sight.
The suttle gregariousness,
has all but gone dry.