my dear redeemer, my hands are calloused at the hold of my headphones that touch my thigh as i sit beside clouds. when your hums tear my ears closely i fall to a world where my head whirls profusely awaking against sycamore trees with the breeze perfuming a scarlet colossal scenery. a paradise bringing me afloat a million souls as i am agile to wavering honey dust. you have contained me in a shell longing for love, etude, solace and turmoil as they wash down my drain but through the cold, i find you still. the windows are hollow, even though it blossoms for sunlight i hear such cynosures in my earplugs. you are my music. where comets are yonder, that’s where you are.