...

Time is fluid, you have it and you don't
But then what is not, who'll have it, who wont?

Daft earth, patient sun, parched land and me
Dust bowl, smoke filled, my eyes as I see

I ask, she questions and desires
Seeking answers, choosing not to hate, them liars

A smile, half baked and fragile
And a smell thereabout and as I run my last mile

She asks me to display, I don't answer and surmise
She is herself but then I think otherwise

Patient earth, parched sun, land and daft me
It could have been easily so. You see.