When I Talk to You

When I talk to you,
I don’t want to sleep.
You bring out the child in me,
Take me back a million light years —
Back to where we once ran through the streets,
Under moon sheets, where everything is lost
And everything crashes — metaphysics
And metaphors:
You are a soul mate.
You’re busy cooking a meal made with love.
I’m busy cooking words.
You tell me: surrender to sleep,
To the highest window in the hotel.
I say: that’s our room.
It might not be real.
But the cars move 24/7.
We never sleep.
You — never sleep.
I’ve waited by the door with a Leuchtturm notebook and a dot.
A circle starts everything:
Rounding souls and bicycles and moons.
When I see you, I just want to keep my eyes awake.
But I decide to lean on your head — and dream.