Wednesday 2 March 2016


Was a time
A new day would
Come to pass as
An empty canvas
Until your fingers met mine
And your hands were shades enough
And your eyes did tell 
Of the fires to come.

And I said,
A story of spring.
And clutch
These  tomorrows 
To come.
Oh let's run
Through empty fields, 
Little hurricanes
Giant swamps
With you singing 
All the while
And smile
When strangers 
Pass us by.

Our maps are not the same
And isn't everyday 
Just another 
Empty canvas, but
I'll go where the colours are
With you.

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