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.