Tattered

I woke up and rolled over and found myself in your hair

Filled with a sigh and murmured at the view

Among that world, a window called our love

Our little love before us— and to ours.

Few were that beauty in her gentle heart

Although they had found in a sunny sleep

Within that death that was its only dream

Set a proud spirit in a kingly sleep

Born in a dream that hangs upon that crown

Sun comes up and the dream will drown

Fleece blanket, opiate laced milk

Cartoons on a Saturday morning

Dopamine rush

Splenda self-esteem

Put me on like a sweater

A hidden tattered shirt

In the back of the drawer

The only ghosts are the music and the memories