As Cattle.

The beauty that you posess;

it drives me.

Not as much through word,

but such as action.

Station

From across the lake i spy
the Basilica.

It’s towers show just enough reflection
To make me want for a tiny town of our own;
it's Duomo in the center, where all the town-folk gather.
Crops to be sown and nothing to falter with.

We'd run away to this, and let all that remains be.

Walk in the slowed chilled night
Through Christmas lights that
dance down trees
in waltz time.
Dripping it's product of melt
with
magnificence normally reserved for
stars and palpable change.

but. (I hope)

There's alway new possibility.
To not feel soo damn alone.