Last night I spent
with you in my head as i tossed and turned
between a variation of chords - D, G and A minor
and incessant conversation analysing your life
fucked up as it is...

Then when the ringing began, strenuos and agitated
I walked out of this green room we'd locked ourselves in
to see silhoutted mountains at the edge
that could have been gold if our maps had been the same
and our clocks if they'd clicked in the same tongue.

Instead beyond our stares there was a blanket pregnant with golden flowers
embroidered into a grandmother's pattern of long waits,
by the window.
Old as it was - the memories faded into lights that a photographer craves.
The flowers fell as i fell from you
and I know the world is still a better place, because tonight
weren't we fireflies?