In the lull of a mild melancholy, my thoughts condense upon the cold window of a forlorn wish.
On the hearthstone of my imaginings library, I curl into the croissant like shape of a dreaming cat.
The hug of flame-made warmth is of the same nature as the embrace of the wind.
Cradled by the Universe and her songful whisper; “be warm little Spirit and dry your wings; for I await you in the wind.”
Heavens move… Mist becomes running drops along the glass; and my heart is full once more.
The teary window reveals days first light. Orange thoughts accompany a sweet scent of waking grass.
A last sleepy outbreath carries away the beautiful sadness afore my moonlit respite.
I draw in sun-kissed air from upon my upper lip – an endless gift fashioned of star fusion; tempered by the womb of our home world.
Wistful substitute for cosmic heat - behind the hearth it sighs with the sound of its dying glow.
Imaginations dust; a little phoenix welcomes the sunrise.