The world is a fever

I can feel it in my hair

I had a dream the other night –

of a bonsai on my windowsill.

We were cultivated in a dorm room –

over twelve-year-old photos,

looking out into a world

we were never fully own.

Your name keeps people guessing,

your shirt is on my floor –

There’s a bonsai on my windowsill,

I can see it from the street –

it sings to me on the tide,

it calls to me.

We mimic the world which will never wait for us.

Crystal clear,

I see your grin –

waiting for me.

I live for the days of nothingness

of memories spent beneath your gaze.

for ever

searching.

We live in the world,

of pebbles and stones –

a lucky world.

our roots grow into the windowsill.

together.

the dying trinity in your holy renown.

For the loam beneath the wet soaked amity

of royal earthy tones,

lays bare a true impression –

destined for eternal bliss.

we find shelter beneath her mist.

and for once is now

and now shall find

That when awoken,

We –

Will surely fly.