A child of November
that was born into the night
carried by a sadness
on a bed of hidden light

Behind his frosted eyes
is a forest of emerald green
the autumn leaves are magic
from the day of eighteen

Beneath his skin a hint
of olive yellow tone
from a pouring heart of love
never truly sewn

it's framework and scaffolding
that place bridges in our pale blue sky
so can you stop at level crossings
and ask yourself why?

knotted fraying ropes
just to pull a silver moon
but behind midnight dreams
our visions are somewhat strewn

Rose petals put to bed
now dead on the kitchen floor
As apologies echo
from behind the front door

You shy from the truth
that brings us to our end
That it slowly is upon us
but the time we can bend

Surfing at the duvet
where I found all your fingers
they grasped all my bridges
so I placed a kiss upon your ridges

Your body came in waves
sure upon the shore
and both our bodies collided;
touched into the core

Salt the taste of sweet
upon my fiery tongue
and arms just like a puppet
from laying down to strung