Wild Wandering Dreams

Wild dreams wearing the colour of thunderheads on their fingernails tap against the window glass:
drink up your shot of storm, refill your flask from the well of rain-bright eyes, we’re off to hills of lightning shards, sharp to the touch but soft to the sole, we’re going to walk the tide-lines of cloudy mountains filling the basin of night, waves rolling with roaring flashes and sea foam towers, toppling across castles of brittle days; we’re off to wander up and down the stairs that collaps behind us as we circle untamed landmarks in weaving patterns making sense only to dream-creatures lurking somewhere deep in earthen bellies, snakes curled up in coils and loops mapping out the journey in stars.