Cold, Late Trip to Cry Somewhere,
But can’t stop breathing this outside air imagining it to be as fresh as you,

Hot, night flight needs to hurry up and land,
Imagining a life with our daughters playful fingers in your head, wondering if i can bring you back home.
No matter what you decide to understand,
I will go search for you in the light at noon when it’s easy and hopeful, a chance for your eyes to see my eyes when we see the moon.
© Jaxon Boyd