Take my hand and let us run. <br />For my heart is but a poorly stitched kite, <br />and you… <br />you, my dear are the mighty gale, <br />which sweeps me off to round the sky, <br />sailing in a gust of Aeolian ecstasy. <br /> <br />I hope never to feel the prairie again, <br />though… <br /> <br />Tethered only by a thin string, <br />are you and I, my captain, my sailor. <br />The wind that blows in your breast, <br />Unknowingly holds my trampoline frame, <br />in such stark relief against an ever, <br />ever changing horizon.<br /><br />Sebastian Sandok<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-steady-squall/
