Think of me when

We may never see

So, my childish, drunken heart is trapped beating slow and tired under quilted suns. Pretty patterns of blue and gold coat me as I’m drowning in the sounds of jazz while a deep voice sings about love. He sounds like November. He knows no other songs and sings. And he sings like darkness beats and he sings for me and he knows what I know and he sings in my dream.