You’re dreaming on a dandelion seed.
Up, up, up, and away—
I don’t think I can get a hold of you.
Where dark skies separate shine
and I stare into magic,
our bodies seize another second chance at life.
Like ghosts born from sorcery,
like love weaved of tapestry,
something should emerge out of this.
All our lives we waited for a miracle,
showered under translucent material,
because we longed to move past the plastic bliss.
we’re spoiled stars in the milky way;
luminous, little, infatuated rays,
pretending we aren’t afraid
of three-hundred-sixty degree spins
that could alter our assumptions,
somehow start a moon explosion; wipe out an eternity of perception.
You desire utopian.
I live for the impractical.
Cassiopeia can see us up here.
Can she send us a sign?
Will we bring back the light?
No dandelion seed would ever exhume cloud nine.
❤ ❤ Happy National Poetry Day!!!!!! ❤ ❤