Sweet dreams you man in silver arms,
on a stead that is half-blind, confined
by prostate hooves that crumble under the deep
mud piles forming like bubbles of hot
lava.
O how you only wish to ride under the blue moon,
so pale,
and save the night from falling beneath zero
so low,
and build a castle in every corner garden that endures,
so long.
Those shields and swords will only write you a brief future,
we all want those books to speak well of us,
brushing our egos is hard work with wine in the veins,
loosed noose around the neck at the first sunrise,
built from those long hairs that swept off shore on the atlantic,
with the pink hue nudged at the center of that deep purple gaze.
Your exhausted, take off that armor, so tired
and dreaming lopsided thoughts of endless oceans and costless sails,
with seagulls diving in and out of existence,
with their children on their backs
with their children on their backs
somewhat innocent to imagine timid fur that rests on your cheek,
it is nice to just rest on a piece of wood that floats helplessly,
don't worry about all that
don't worry about all that.
