pleaidian dreamers eek out a living
in impossible waters
they pursue only meaning

grieve for the days
and cry out for the nights
speak of the wind
and how often it bites

our souls are alight
our minds are fireflies
tied to cherry trees
wearing disguises

as watermelons rumble
and apples fall
our ankles are tangled
and so are our curls

show me the face
you like to hide
in green pastures
and fields of rye
a porcupine iris
promises its life
if you were to kiss him
he’d probably die

so much persistence
in existence we try
to give up our habits
and addiction to self
surrender our power
and hang out in the breeze
but upon the crescendo
we fell asleep in the trees