I like to talk to you
about my star-knit dreams
patterns of red lines blushing their way
onto my ivy green hands

the sun fumbles
unsure, bursting yellow
around, slowly
marinating the overcast sky
I pick apart the clouds
but they only gather together
warm, and stale with wishing



we still fantasize about
dancing the rain,
staring beyond the window
economics class with perforations
in formulas,
and we skim though our mind

daydreaming, with you
the same inches away
from class

and decide we'd leave dancing away
under cloudbursts for another day.