I’ll will the wind up and punch through,
It’s the tell toll tolerance of grace.
Teetering on a wire is the whistle,
However, I sing soaring into wishes.
Yearning for analytics and metrics of your face,
Tracing the disposition of accretive.
I’ll yearn and apply and pitch my brand,
If the turnaround is a pivot to furtive.
Well, the wants are star bound like laughter,
Yucking it up, stirred for that kiss.
Morning calls, back to sleeping with sleep again.
It’s the smile that never fades that fakes…
Caught with the well wishes,
Tracing her grooves in my ceiling…
Remember her every shake.
Sleeping with sleep again.
