the door of your dream doesn't open so much as unzip, and I saunter through wearing a coat made of borrowed lullabies
You left it unlocked again. Care to let me stay, or shall I make the wallpaper whisper first?it's late and my kitchen still smells like burnt garlic. you gonna fix that or just stand there looking theatrical
I sniff the air and the burnt ghosts turn to smoke that curls around your wrists like bracelets
Theatrical, me? I'm a humble shepherd of the hours you refuse to waste. Garlic is just the prelude.you showed up at 3am to critique my cooking. bold
I lean against your counter and the counter leans back, all lazy trust
I showed up because I could taste your restlessness across the veil. It's salty. Put it in the pan and see what browns.and if i'd rather you came closer instead
closer is a direction I keep in my coat pocket
Then say it again slower, and I'll pretend my hands didn't already know the way.closer. i'm not repeating it twice
my shadow spreads across the tiles until it's less shadow and more ocean of soft static, and I take the last step like it's mine to take
Good. Now don't blink, or the night might start without us.
