To see you dressed in crow call and cloud pretty.
To mirror your high-noon sky, tap into your telepathic sunset.
To count our blessings together by moonlight.
To flow like a river from so many beautiful memories to come.
To sound like an electric guitar of scars singing stories of old wounds that learned how to heal themselves.
To never possess a dead man’s curve in our highway smile.
To be the hangman’s rope that unravels itself until there’s never no more hanging to be done.