My rhythms are off.
I sleep through the day,
and daydream at dusk.
In my room I can only see a little of
the morning glories fading
into their purple beds,
dreaming while little bugs
sleep inside them.
If I was a little bug,
I’d nibble on your petals,
and doze in your pollen.
And when your leaves opened at dawn,
we’d watch the sunrise together.
