Oh, this mind is much too small
to contain such thoughts that
billow the sleeping forms
causing them to stir so,
changing the rhythms of their rest.
You may never create such bewitching design,
but you do inspire that profession to come alive.
I thought of you the other day,
I thought of you this morning, awake.
I dreamt a glimmer into your mind,
but what it created, please dare not remind.
Lay such fear deep and narrow,
for cowardice strikes me not now into
the whispers of this night. Turbulent
forces paralyse the spine and beg
not to be realised.
This time, forgotten.
This night shall pass,
but as of late and as forever, these teething
thoughts rotate upon the thought of you and of our time.