The air is visible around you, rising up. And off your lips in slow currents, and I watch. As your face is framed in its slow currents, drifting curls. A trailin' path, a long draft becomes a
, I'll never reach my place. . With everything I have, I reach out my hands. There's nothing to give. I seem to have no direction, I have no control. No way to know where currents pull. All the