A star-born blanket was our only covering
Below was the cascading undergrowth of thin green rigid sprouts
Surrounded by an environment morphed by the imagination
And with the feral gleam of his eye he asked....
Would you mind if we got lost?

I’m not quite good at hiding how I feel
Nor can my mouth speak for my heart
I can’t offer you material
Only the sustenance of my words
That I’m not happy that you are in my world
But that you are in “the” world
I don’t quite remember the color of your eyes
Yet I still hold on to the feeling of looking into them
Their sweet appeal that this world couldn’t live without