Veranda

think of a word & don’t tell me so
the dreams you have are not my seems
perfect pitch in a perfect pool
forgetting everything but the bat in the bath
thinking of youth & you won’t let it go
together tuneless tapped in a fervent wish
nothing left but leaving soon
forgetting everything but the bat in the bath

never noticing your own tools & trades
leaving nothing but oceanic spray
never noticing your own tunes & tales
when summer is over our funhouse days
thinking slowly & always inside
the dreams you have are not my seems
never worried to leave soon
forgetting everything but the bat in the bath

think of a dream & turn it to ash
the words you have are not my jam
taking for granted your pens & keys
when summer is over our funhouse days