We Soar
Well can't help it
Old habits die hard,
In any case
I’m no cricketer,
So what with the hat-trick

We soar into space
Like does Branson
With utmost grace,
He fights a space race,
We fight spatial…
Likewise the ocean across your window,
You view daily
And
The passion of the high tide
Reminds of the passion
We experience nightly,
But there is no substitute
To imagination,
As sex pragmatic is the modern fashion,
Take it or leave
It’s left for thee
The wave’s desperate passion
Surges within me