How I miss
the ***-holed path
that one that never ends.

The one that blocked us
as we walked, secured
by great green fence.

The tumultuous crash of the Clyde;
our halter
as people roar past us
in manic motors.

A wicked wait brimming with tribal tension;
an unheard prayer for divine intervention,

the distractions we made to stay like this,
the noise we made to refute our lips,
a fear of another chance to miss,
such horrors hold from cupids kiss.