/ yellow balloon /

you wish to know your landing,
so you want answers to turn at exactly what degree.
but I waltz and flow into your sand of time,
and whirl them into fumes to pump you carefree.

I do not have the road map,
and the destination is worthless to trail and see.
please, just float and moon on high to shine,
and adorn the places you don’t know that’s there to be.

/ ink on paper /