Dreaming of My Bedroom
There are at times, the good nights—
where there’s felt the softness of lilacs,
their color deciding to fill up the morning sky.
There are blossomed animals, soft and dreary-eyed,
I witness them from the window of my room,
the glass felt more like a clear. heavy water.
The pane carefully placed above my writing desk—
as though it was the most important piece
that the architect painstakingly sketched.
The desk itself a dark cherry wood, creaking
as it’s burdensome figure presses against the floor.
Only a quilted bedframe sits beside the lectern table,
the place where I can. at times, slumber peacefully.
And when I manage, this scene plays itself back,
on repeat, as I feel the softness of lilacs once again.
