this is surely what it feels like to die.
or is it purely just being alive?
i know for a fact that i've never died
but there's no pact that implies that i'm alive

but you have the ink to my paper and write you shall
if you think now, not later, it will bite with a bell.

all leaves fall just as all trees grow, just as i had met you in the snow
but one sees all, with the key to the crow, current set, no need to row.

this must be what it feels like to love
as the gust be on the wings of a dove
how can you read me before you write me?
no need to be freed, you don't spite me.
for i'd never believe i'd hold you lightly.