Chamomile heartbeats, wash ashore the memory,
It's bound to my brain
(He's cryptic)
Dreamcatcher captures, feathers speak of summer nights
and still I implore the definition of what our blood means to one another, on the eve of your cornered youth
It's ending, but halting in me, it's a screeching tire sensation, while I am myself there are dozens of others charading within
Cryptic love,
forsake me

-cj