but the soft yellow of warning,
down the road
past blooming, ivy-covered trees
and around the bend
where my heart is laid failing and arrhythmic.
In the evening's dusk you are a stuttering slide show
of strobe light flashes, questions
and gentle probing.
I want to tell you not to bother,
that I will not see the coming of dawn,
that my heart cannot find its home in this strange world
but the shape of my words are lost in your boyish face,
drown in the gentle touch of curiosity.
On that empty, quiet road
suddenly drenched in caution and care
and call me Love
and I let go.