Scenic skys of blistering warmth,
nay brisk or summer cool even;
my sight not skimmed, barely dawning,
down past my garden of eden.

My hair falling, freshly down,
to the lenghtly red-headed fashion;
yer golden gaze takes over finishing,
our rigorous fairytale passion.

A poor written mind,
of mine that winces over;
your placement on a bus from my windowsill.
I sigh my fingers, in between my glass,
allowing my breath sink further still.

The wave saw your wonder,
and asked you a question;
to which you left merely amiss.
Would you believe, the next sudden displace;
a girl fleeing time in her fritz.