Crossing the street
Blindfolded
Hold my hand
From where you came
To where you are going
Hours demand
A fallen sacrifice
Lightning
Seeks
Your attention
Don't mention it
We begin again
To make amends
And mend our linens
Before we wash them
In public spaces
Shadows remove
Their spectacles
And let's be honest
With ourselves
Or at least
Aspire to be sincere
It appears that
Our mutual feelings
Are in arrears
These days
As leap years burn
Your holy garments
Old shirts are torn
From the holes
Within our firmaments
Young brides must tackle
Insubstantial problems
Like how many  
Triangles are born
From uniting two
Hollow spheres
Yet to solve them
Must forever remain
Closer to impossible