I see him from my ‘other’ world and my
stomach flips over. I’m not really sure
why; it’s not like I’ve ever met him. But
there’s something about him; we connect.
It feels slightly insane to be getting lost
in a fantasy that doesn’t exist. The logistics
of meeting him are difficult, but not impossible.
I look into her eyes, searching for what, I
don’t know; maybe something of me? Hers
are liquid pools of blue, the colour of the
aquamarine waters. I could swim in them,
swirl down into the depths to where her
soul resides. No secrets do those eyes keep,
gazing at the reflection in the mirror.
A black cat lays by the desk, gleaming and
resplendent in the warmth of the sun pouring
through an open window, floating on the gentle
breeze. Fully stretched, purring in contentment,
comfortable in a way only a cat can be.
Meanwhile the writer weaves his story full
of horror to chill the blood. He shivers.
My wish for you is made up of sun and sky.
It’s in the leaves and rustling underfoot.
I would sing it for you if I could,
take away that inward look;
replace the troubled frown
with a feathered touch.
It’s not slipping from your fingers,
although it seems like that;
it’s all there, the best there is
pumping through your veins,
warming up your blood.
We are sometimes forced to make a choice,
between two very different worlds.
I made a choice today,
but I’ll keep my dreamy head.
The oldest hopes are dreams in air,
reflected back from purple skies,
to swirl unseen in hidden lies;
In kisses of a love affair,
my tears you kept those nights I wept.
I thought the world would never care,
and turn away from burning eyes.
The oldest hopes are dreams in air.