green table cloth,
small feet running amongst isles of words, and i can't remember if you told me your name was johnny or june, and your hair is longer than when i last saw you.
blue eyes don't tell me much but thats okay with me because right before you fall asleep, you tell me stories about when you were young and how you would wander through concepts unbeknown to you.

i'd watch and consider kissing your forehead,
your blue eyes are talking again,
hair falling over your pillow.