sweet spring
is the scent of
flowers blooming
time passed,
each petal a goodbye

i've said mine a thousand times;
now is your turn to see me off and stay behind

no more circles turning
as we are like the sun
rising and setting
in a cycle,
time passing beneath our feet

this time it's your farewell
as i swim into my liquid oppourtunity

i'll take this clay ball of fate
and contort
it for me
always leaving
a spot for you

while we run our own roads
and in seperate search of ourselves
we'll have plenty of life for our stories to share

another time.