Verse I
If only I had a pen —
then I could predict the end.
I'd like my own story,
and write my own mind.
Something reaches up
Instead of looking forward,
my future's staring
back at me.
The dreamscape forms
If only I had a cup of coffee —
then I could drink it to feel sorry.
He sits still long enough that the dream grows a crystal in his open hand.
Stillness
Oh, how I wish
I was a human zombie.
Then — warmth
So soft in the way that you said it to me,
your warm breath steaming like a pot of hot tea.
Knock. Knock.
I thought I saw the moon
peek from behind the tree —
but that was only your smile
looking down at me.