Earnestly, not allowing the sun to come into my eyes, I try to transfix my eyes onto a brilliant dream for you. I have have often dreamed on your behalf - when you are busy thinking of nitty-gritty-slow-dance-steps. When you are thinking of getting away.
First, I want to set the stage in your mind. Your mind has fluoroscence, it has mint, it has honey colouring your grey cells into something brown. Your need to talk to me about everything you saw in the day - my need to be able to create, make my windows seem clean as studio walls - softlight waking me up every morning.
So we never sit with each other - entirely giving ourselves away. Everything is in a hurry, everything is before something else. Except when you are silent into another register, and I am silent after a good session of playing with lego, playing with lego, made of alphabets, joined into words.
Into your mind I would now plant a seed - the seed as sharp and as dazzling as a new born - as clam as a filament stuttering light away. Into your palm I would give the key to the other room. Into your eyes I would let this cool jet flow - take away all the dead cells. Into your feet I would allow music and rhythm - I would ask the wind to blow into your belly and let you be as strong as a stone wall protecting a temple inside.
You would have a pinpoint of awarness in your forehead, letting altitude crash into latitude and offer you a holiday of peace, loose change to spend and a slowly simmering bend of light to play with.