It could be that I am about
To embark on a new timed reality
Called the reeking of Summer,
But I rot away
Like the viewed time for the way all things begin
To savour the rights of man to be blue
And not white and red like you who
Ask me to tell you about me
But I ask
What is it about you that makes me
Understand the likelihoods of being
In the rare presence of younger and older
Styles of longing, like you don’t know it.
But it is true to see that you
Don’t need it either, like the wood
Does not need tree to burn.