I bloom in the back of his mind
where tea leaves speak and blood
is thicker than tears.
He walks hat tipped in salute
to every dreamer that catches
my silhouette in the wink of his words.
Pin striped lanky limbs struggle
to keep him centered, but I am
the ink writing him out of his mind.
There’s no warning when a pen breaks
a glass heart, or madness finds a mirror.
Love is never born from common sense.