THEIR ACQUIESCENCE

Surely you can forgive me for the sombre atmosphere I've cast upon your sky?

Stay in my arms, only if you dare.

THE SKY AND THE HAY

You don’t believe in perfectly straight lines, and being perfect in general. You don’t deny the boxes and columns of how I perceive, and perceive it through with just the right hint of abstraction. Every bit of natter is an ensemble of colours, spinning indefinitely for my eyes to see.

You’re my cellophane flower.