When it happens the first time, it soars
but it’s happened before
this feeling of synchrony
as we smiled and rode on by
but this time it was a bit different
making it a first time, again
it was the calmness
the quietness
the substance
that leaves you guessing
as we split paths
and think about each other for days
it’s like a white dove that’s set free;
it soars into the white clouds
when you wake up; it’s in a white dream
it’s like that when I look at the white skies
and feel the soft white falling paper pieces
rest on my summer skin;
remnants of you
will I ever find you again?
No
… yes
