I may say what I like,or laugh with a smile
Or tell how much gold to feed me until full
What if I had a white-sheet bed underneath a glass-dome ceiling?
The dots and the smears of rain smashing in rhythmic time
Going nicely with your deep inhalation
Maybe I'd be alone;
A loose camisole veil,permeated by the dark gray.
Note pad over my chest abused with messy scribbles
Pen in my hand resting over my head
The two scenes could collide
and I can not lie,repose would be met,
if I could hear your breath and feel your palpitating warmth in dusk
Why am I up past midnight?
To try and smell the rain,or imagine one drop could break the glass
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