Distant galaxies. The gaze of her eyes. Stars and planets, drifting in eternal darkness. Love like snow, falling upwards towards the clouds. Flashing lights. Flowers in the rain bouncing like cigarettes. A sequence of events that comes together like bombs upon a fading eastern town. Cold and wet graveyards. Dead leaves on the dirty ground. Zig-zag patterns on a carpet. Arms around each other with fate calling from somewhere unseen. In a mound of dirt, hope is buried along with the morning dew. In a box of secrets, the key to future romance swells beyond recognition. The steam of innocence. The crumbling facade of indifference. Screaming trees. Babies and wolves howling to the new born moon. In heaven, everything is fine. In hell, we damn ourselves with ill-discipline. Torn fragments of warmth. Chattering teeth. Fear of birth. So many nights that have become nothing. Echoes of future past, haunting with ease. Figures on a sixpence, spinning in the gutter. The perfume of a lover, gushing like temptation. Cheating hearts and tainted flesh. In a pool of desire, we come undone to cute birdsong. We feel alive with the words of our saviour. Rock and bone. Little slices of death. Give yourself to enlightenment. To cherubs and dwarves. Smoke a cigarette, and swallow any reservations. In the court of no one in particular, we often come apart. The child inside, crying out to be saved. So many loose ends. So many waves, just begging to be surfed.