outside my window,
green rolling hills
of thoughts skim my
eyelids while
i trace the scar of your smile,
starred
with inspirations towards
the sky,
which watches
the soil ripening with
the fruit of dreams
spilled tea,
tongues teased
with tangy longing,
soft and raw
but i am not awake
and you are
alive in the sky
outside
ripened eyes
while i
am buried
blank-faced
beneath mountains sloped
with stacks of sweet silver
seeds that i have
planted but i can never
see as fruit
see it come
to fruition
