Oakley

As if to anticipate me, the breeze soothes the Limes, rustles Cypress trees, on hills beyond the Cliffs, a curious somnolent light, lights the valley's rift, by a wine dark sea, am surprised in my fright, supposedly young and free, a whisper forget his lips, songs of love and sighs, soothe my stumbled shift, stunted by his apostrophe’s, our futures on the tide, he doesn't go for easy, the music's echo shivers, his one long cry, while the night withers, drink more green tea, watch the geese rise, horizons all before me, it's such a short time.