We've reached the point,
above the horizon,
wind throwing everything off balance in a dazzling display.
Flying. You're Flying. I'm Flying. We're Flying.
It's a feeling I haven't had the nerve to experience,
until you.
There are these moments of pure light,
ones that link our connection into an unbreakable bond,
sewing together stitch after stitch,
mending and breaking and mending again.
The horizon comes closer each hour,
each second that I'm with you is a wind current,
higher into the air.
My heart is flying.
Your heart is flying.
Our hearts have flown.
YOU ARE READING
philophobia
Poetryit isn't always as it seems. first breaths of love, first breaks of hearts, first year. October 2013 - May 2015
