My sweet tempest in a teacup.
A puzzle in a riddle, an enigma, she made up.
She was my treasure chest under the depths of the sea
And when reality gets the best of me, I’m sent into space.
And my heart was still under its retreat,
But she began to speak and it softened easily.
All the pins she wore shouldered on her sleeve
Pierced a gaping hole which didn’t bother me.
Angelic relics playing for my heart.
My preference for dreams, torn apart.
She ended all the questions thrumming within me.
She was the cure for my downcast, melancholic blues.
She was pillow talk in a coffee shop with french new wave hues.
A second in her presence took us down a tunnel to
The only place in this good age where lovers go get rude.
Revoked my membership for the antisocial social crew.
But darling please, don’t get upset if I stop saying to you,
Pillow talk in this coffee shop was romance I could do.
Her Lavender Latte 