I want the wish to last
the crystalline clouds hanging over trees of ashes
no less composed than the crayola sunshine on the paper
in front of us.
I want the picture to real
the smiles we plaster to melt when they’re wet
the hands we hold warm and perpetually fused together
as we stare into the open air
ready to face the world.
I want the change to change me
the foreign wakefulness of sleep
the chance to dream in REM stages
the bedding I choose to suit me for me
I want the newness of life, this life
to rip the wrong right out of me.