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.
I see your grin –
waiting for me.
I live for the days of nothingness
of memories spent beneath your gaze.
We live in the world,
of pebbles and stones –
a lucky world.
our roots grow into the windowsill.
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,
Will surely fly.