I’m tired. You know that feeling? Exhaustion when everything is spinning. I’m tired from the spinning. The carousal never stopped to let me on and I never caught up. So the spinning elapses the thought and my tiredness grows into a thick ball, I’ve never been able to cough up. Beds and a beer sound nice. Not just one bed, but many. Hundreds of pillows for my sleepy head. I wouldn't be solo, but adorned in you instead. And the spinning will bring you home to my dreamland. Where we would see stars instead of walls and the roses would kiss our cool cheeks, and your freckly skin would be the best sin. I’m drifting away to this place behind waters and mountains. In the morning, when we woke from the most wonderful slumber, the sky’s red paint would be pink and so sweet, and streaming in our house made of windows. I’d play the piano while you brewed our energy and kissed me under blankets of autumn’s best colors and winter’s hope snows. Warm and wonderful splinters.
In my suitcase you'll find my pet rock, and a bass drop, and something to make a good sweater. I packed you a sandwich and a night cap for the sleeping we're drinking. My hands will be yours for the taking as long as we're there and a bed is beneath me.