Through empty bottles I stare at the midnight blue,
Though tossing and turning, nothing stops me thinking about you,
My heart is pounding harder than the crickets' chirp,
My love is redder than the veins my blood caresses,


I grab my brown cotton coat, and stumble for you
The Monday's weather is colder than an ice bath,
But the thought of you makes me warm,
The smiles you curve make me bend,
With careful diligence I refrain from the gate bells,


Your room glows from the moonlights and the candle wicks,
I crouch beneath the barbered wire and scratch my coat,
Why do anxieties churn within my sacred bosom?


Oh the beauty of your imperfectly designed frame!
Oh the wonders of watching you in the silence!
Whatever it is that you do,
That you do is all I love staring you do,


Can you hear these cooing echoes
From the flutes of parrots?
Do you hear when I say I love you
Through the lips of parrots?


Can you hear the clacking of these muddy shoes
Sing beneath the window panes of your room?
Do you hear when I say I love you
Through the lips of parrots?


In a careful whisper I call your name with a sweet reverence,
My heart glows from the heat your shadow casts,
Do you ever sob?
You must turn the darkest of dusk into a summer in the Netherlands


Black beanie hat I hurl at your window,
My frozen hands I swirl and swirl,
The only one receptive is the misty vagabond who hangs on your window and the flat stairs every twilight season people are asleep,


You close your shelf and switch off
The candle lights and the lavender curtains,
My voice is stern in its whisper,
"Pea—, Pearl!" Then the dog barks in the rusty kennel!
your light sprouts, but your dad is you!


Can you hear these cooing echoes
From the flutes of parrots?
Do you hear when I say I love you
Through the lips of parrots?


Can you hear the clacking of these muddy shoes
Sing beneath the window panes of your room?
Do you hear when I say I love you
Through the lips of parrots?


Or do these subtle echoes of parrots sing lullabies of benevolent grace in vain?
Only if you could hear the echoes, the echoes of colorful parrots stuttering parables of deepest mysteries,
Mysteries of unrelenting passions!
Mysteries I, even I can barely fathom.

@DAYVE #FictionDAYVE ©DAYVE
© DAYVE