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I’ll have the november leaves

in petrichorus rite

the sky is burning

flames stretch across the sky as far as the eye can see

what had once been the despair

“no place to which to run”

november branches against the cold autumn aria

I’m left alone…

...the autumn leaves, the distance

the scar sounds

it all lines on the thread

burning to the melody in her voice

as caressing my skin is not only the distant wind, but too her blood, in despair to escape

to despair of…

home again

here, in the dreaming garden

beautiful colors against the flowers

reverberating the screams in such a quiet breeze

light is so lucid

this place will only burn in love

to despair of…

the home to which to run

run with me