Can I see your thoughts? Like lines of a poem waving in the air above your handsome head?
Can I find your words for you? And write them on my forehead so I don’t forget them?
Make my eyes a journal. Draw in them, your castles in the air.
I seek truth in your paintings.
I dive into your zeal.
How is it Sir, that you stir in me, a clarity?
How is it that all this time, before we came to be, I was so veiled?
A stranger and a vagabond, baring no ties to a certain this or that.
Will you hop the trains with me? Will you throw a pack on your back and in kindred soul, wade through the thick of this magnificently heroic globe?