Park Bench

Open sky, sitting on a park bench with one arm curved behind a person; teething smiles shyly undressing my emotional puristic like Adam re-unclothing in Eden. Whatsoever is losed of my ascetic, may it free our eyes to tresspass into our hearts and breakthrough the binders. Open sky, like a shaded orange thingy, serendipity might bring your meaning by a large dream of two days' worth of sleep after I crept into your eyes and lost something I can't really tell of; I think it was unshelved, a piece of my bestselling self; consequence: lost. Obsequies: died for love, the form of death that kills the greed of my homesickness; consequence: no return. Open sky, clear, yet the sun will soon say goodbye. Like good friends we watch his actual goodbying but not without the christening of our love pudding: sweet child in arm, the sweetest charm we ever cast... Yours for all time, burnt the bridge behind and it's a good thing I can't swim, good thing, but if I could, I'd swim in your own pull.