What are the odds
of capturing petalled dreams,
trapped between tangled
webs of tomorrow;

we walk on parallel lines
of fate, which keep
lengthening,
beckoning us forward,

and our ever-eager souls
seek out where ends meet
into one...

what are the odds
of sleeping peacefully tonight,
yet another one spent
aimlessly tossing around;


the winds stifle a laugh
as they mark my skin.