Skiing through the mog, that January generously brings
The cling of smoke, running it’s claws through my hair
I feel all ready dead, but in the best possible way
As the outline of your silhouette skirts in and out existence
My elation hasn’t gone un-noticed by the populous
As they chime in hope to become conductors
Like a circuit that spans the city; the elation can power us all
And we can sore outside the colours and pages
Tear our fingers into the camera lens
And escape the logistics that would guide our hearts along

Lnc0