kettle dreams.

the steaming kettle plays
tricks on my eyes; your face
on white porcelain bones
disappears like dust
whirling up into the sky
going away, never passing by.

always in my mind--
you're like a post-it, always,
always posted, stuck
on a memory never erased.
but you blew a kiss and
turned away, and i,
more than anyone, know that
blowing kisses is like
waving goodbye,
so

i'll stuff the stars into a bag,
carry it on my back,
whisper you a dream. and
i'll be on my way, leaving,
leaving today.


a/n: i'd really, really want to change the title. so tell me if you've got ideas :)