Reid@YWP

The feeling of the warm breeze

As the trees begin to die

And the red bleeds into the sky

As the icebergs melt and cry

The skies that were blue

I'm getting older. 

I often struggle to notice.  

I'm with myself all the time, 

I know myself better than anyone.  

I want to breathe 

Both with looming skyscrapers, 

And mountains stretched high, 

To feel the sun 

Smiling on my skin, 

Let our hands align 

as your heart collides with mine. 

Let your breathes fill my lungs with life 

so we will never run out of time. 

Then hold me til we decompose,

If my life, my American life, was a table setting 

Laid out lovingly by all my ancestors. 

It would have the usual trappings: 

There is a fog that escapes from the wide mouth 

Of a creature that lurks 

Through the raw October air. 

Almost obvious is the daunting manner of its complexion,