every night when i go to bed

i stumble into a sheepish mess of pillows

i keep this thought in my mind throughout the day

and if i need to i'll stop holding onto it

long enough for the not so quiet laughs

to sneak their way over me

and the weight of satisfaction

keeps me from blowing away too far

in so many ways

i count myself lucky

"you're the laziness of afternoons/

you're the reason why i burst and why i bloom"

you'll never forget your first love; mcs will always be there for me

when i'm too dumb

all that is left to do is hold on to the soft parting of the kiss that woke you into a dream world.

each day travels a bit differently in my mind,

with their own surprises and modesty.

i catch myself drifting off quite often lately,

when i am listless and feeling the usual

wistful waves for affections.

there are these small objects we've come to share

in our short time, small in the way

that this planet is compared to the universe;

in our minds, i suppose every

victory of a moment or cheer for the length gone by

and not driving ourselves to wit's end is momentous.

and some days, that is all i need to assure

my upkeep is paid and i can thrive.

you can bend your chair backwards

to breath in a space like this,

if only to stretch your legs,

as i walk my own length passing.

at times i wonder if you reflect

what i do in my feathered world,

sitting at your table kindled by the

rustle of my reminiscing joys to while away

the quiet times of missing you;

i, outside of all this, am oblivious

to your minutiae and yet left

to wonder why i glow so warmly

as you sing your little songs

and settle even farther into

my most private, indeterminable hallways.