probably (this is)

last night: a vivid dream about hopes and wishes, a little boy grasping the sturdy pencil, perforated, as a response to a favor, a teenager losing her head in the wandering melodies of florence welch, fears of flying / getting out of the comfort zone. she may have sprinkled tears of worry across the satin pillows— a sign of unsolicited attention / visible intention calling for deep affection. this is to say that her feelings were unwarented, as if looking at the mirror only to be reflected back as a basket of fruits (some are fresh and some smell). she is not sure, in doubt,  more pallid compared to the 20-year old wall of trust and safety. maybe warm hands can bring color to her sullen cheeks. hands that took her breath away when she was in the springtime of her life. i say kiss her, help her get up with those hands that have touched both heaven and hell. and maybe: her words would let you escape the life of regrets