2003

Cornflower skies
rest upon our eyes
as we float on the fumes
of a brief eternity.

The magnetic fields of youth
draw our lips closer,
we realize we're dreaming
as we dream of reality.

I rewind this memory
on the broken screen
of a lonely afternoon.

We had to cut the summer
so we could run
towards the autumn,
the sound of scissors
still clear as a tear
in my ears.