Morning gray ignites a twisted mess of foreign shapes and sounds, I wish the ceiling was the ground.
I'll send you flowers made of silent tiny pieces of the sun to help me make up for this one.
While you send me tidal waves of love when you're alone and I can't remember what you do to find a way to turn the signal back to heaven sounding blue and bring me faithful back to you.

If we break off gently in slow motion spinning outward into space, my hand, always firm and gently at the wheel, I discreetly hold my face.
And I need you to give it meaning, I need you to share the view or it becomes a time for me to love myself like every other thing I do.