409,
On the kitchen counter.
Purple wine,
And a furious something.
In the early light,
O Celeste! What a silhouette!
Had me from the starting pistol
Falling like a breath.
How foolish to believe that the wind it blows against me.
It's aims are just so low as to stop my forward motion.
Come in, anam cara.
The future tense,
What a gift to give!
You weather vanes,
You show direction.
Rusted wings, rested wings.
Ready to take to flight.
How foolish to believe that love would wait until I'm ready.
It's aims would be so high as to stop my forward motion.
Come in, anam cara.