It's that time of the year again
when my paper boats get itchy
seeking your streams to
carry themselves to ecstasy's ocean...

Pregnant sky expectant
of a grand extravaganza
guides me to the horizon
where your kisses are stored
in a sacred vault ...

I seek, I wander
like a kite without string,
winds taking me where
your sprinkles bear my name

Come! adorn my path
script a slippery song
on the muddy terrain
that smells like home now ...