And with it you're gone.
I'm left catching my breath.
You'll always lead on.
It'll never be said.

Light freckles ahead of me.
The Sun begins to swell over the channel.
Warmth grazes my hands,
As the world is awoken.

Curiosity strikes.
Draping over me is a coconut palm.
Bland, pastel walls of Casa Babi are gone.
Replaced by a golden beach.

Waves lapsing in an orchestral chorus.
I swear it's the most beautiful sight
To ever quench my ears.
Perhaps I'll order another.

Reach to my right.
My nightstand has left me.
Similar to past encounters,
I'll be mixing alone.

Luckily my feet are still sleeping.
Their beds, secure in my sandals.
Waking them, I discover a metallic object.
Digging, finding my crimson flask.

Peering past the shoreline,
Admiring the Sun's trio of color.
I take another sip, hoping,
For the first time, I'll awake in the same place.

I am a canvas.
White, crisp, and clean.
You are the artist.
Preparing a new scene.

I am a canvas.
A swirl of shapes and shades.
You are the artist.
Pulling the brush to stray.

I am art.
Eliciting glances.
You're an artist.
Creating romances.

I am art.
Pulling thoughts.
You're an artist.
Feeling distraught.

I am the artist.
I am the art.
I am the artist.
I am the start.

You've ignited a flame long dwindled
What was once ash is now warming
Do you consider me?
Do you consider something forming?

I can tell you're afraid of commitment.
I was once too.

I'll let you take this fire
You can choose to let it grow
Or let the smoke flutter away
Please consider me one day.

Are we on different plateaus?
You perched above me, gazing beyond my frame
While I'm struggling, staring at your knees
All I ask is for you to bend down
Extend your hand as a chance to me

Let the sun glaze your face
Set your papers down, it's time
Wield your utensil like old ways
Create thousands of new rhymes

The trees whisper answers to you
They can feel summer on the move
While spring is accepting it's due
The breeze sways and soothes

Let the ink flow out everywhere
Write goodbyes and hellos
Dream of all that's fair and unfair
Underneath your weeping willow

Our thoughts and ideas
Are never our own
Deep within ourselves
A dreamer makes his home

He is of peculiar nature
Always busy and quick to ignore
The piled amounts of information
We feel important to store

Always writing out our daily plans
Things to do, appointments, and chores
Constantly slipping and spilling
Our filed papers all over the floor

He tediously writes "Excuses"
For those he "accidentally" loses
Filing them under all folders
So they may be stocked for all uses

So Teacher, I tell you
It was not I who lost your assignment
The Little Dreamer is the one to blame
Who also is in the process of reassignment