If after afterall,
I'd still take a stab at writing about you,
then I guess nothing has changed
from that psychedelic view.
It's barely noon and I feel that one
February where we stopped seeing that
view, a scenery so changed by oceans
and timezones and the ever changing me
and you.
After afterall,
these little peace signs still hang
around from my neck, then I guess it's
the same as wearing my heart on my
sleeve, and your name's still on it.
Reader, do not listen to William Fitszimmons on a Thursday, when you're on a deadline.