i got a little black book

there are no more words

flight to neverland

Green is the colour of her eyes.
She never spoke to me,
but to the boy inside.
We shared some thoughts,
borrowed a few rhymes,
when evening would join
our little world of games,
we would steal hurried glances
at the clock.

It ticked slow and steady.
I kept calling her name,
calling it out slowly,
in my tongue borrowed
long ago,
in a strange foreign land.
Then she asked me
what it meant
and I sat silent.

We sat.
Not on a bench,
not in a little patch
of soft grass,
not by a pond,
not skipping stones
on the river,
not watching
the world.
We sat and looked
inside.

Spots of amber-grey
clouds wrestled for a place
within. Not finding anything,
they skipped
and ran away.
The sunlit stairs
kept raining down
on us
and we sat lost, looking
for them.