untitled

I was going to write a poem;

I fell asleep along the way.

my brain's chemical manifestations

fanciful illusions that can never be.

he of fair skin,

even fair-er of eyes

those that match

oceans reflectant of skies.

clouds that rain down on my pipe dreams

only to be washed away clean

in sewer lids lifted.

a feeding frenzy

of his mind from which all

beauty resonates

crooning melodic lullabies

of his, and my, past

of our past

as a people, as individuals

waking in hopes of a cloudless future.
entangled in the lyrical lines

of his lectures