Fantasize:
just a dream but I can feel it
in my bones
the birds chirping
let my arms rest easy on my side
church bells ringing
every tick on the clocks hands,
my mind throws a party.
Weaving thus pen between the lines
still can’t read
still I feed
and I’m still hungry;
hungry for the night that’s not stolen by the goblins-
hungry for a story like a lost bear walking with Christopher Robbins-
just not as lost anymore-
still hungry,
for you.
When breakfast is over,
I’ll be in line for lunch.
Saint's Muse 