Its about when you leave..
Something will be missing.
My air won’t be the same.
A strange vacancy will hit my atmosphere,
until one day it is covered up,
by veil of new shadows.
The constellations are bound to light up once again,
and they will.
Then this fine summer noon,
as I lie on the porch,
the wind will trespass the waves
that my forehead extends,
right by my shoulder and down the lane.
And as the wind struggles past my hair,
demanding a beautiful escape,
This fine summer noon,
I’ll meet you there,
Once again..