Studies

Daring snow of the grand London town.
It's so nice to hear the cricket sings a desperate goodbye.
Like a growing childhood, and eternal liberation.
They shed a tear or two when their scapula goes away.
I shed a glass, and a skipped breath when it happens to me.
Bring it back to December, bring it back to the week of infinite streams of falling starlight.
Take it back to the deity's island, take it back to the one way trip.
I remember drawing a tree's blood beneath your cranium.
Between your mind, and your inked soul.
As your turpentine warmth gazes on the summer mist.
Our bonded spirit, our vowed skeleton bracelets, and infernal tales.
The forest has granted our momentum.
The first drop of snow in Winter will be waiting for us.
We'll be walking together even when we're apart.