IRC-Galleria

Cool of a temperate breeze from dark skies to wet grass
we fell in a field it seems now a thousand summers passed
when our kite lines first crossed
we tied them into knots
and to finally fly apart
we had to cut them off.

Since then it's been a book you read in reverse
so you understand less as the pages turn
or a movie so crass
and awkardly cast
that even I could be the star.