I.
The flooring, dove grey clouds with white lightning crackling through them.
I watch as life moves beneath my naked feet.
Trees grow,
a dome over me. Giant stars peek between, as if I drew them down to meet me.
My bed, white and big. I stay here when I must,
when it is cold outside and dark.
My space away.

II.
I built a room of sand for him.
Tiny twinkling sediments tickled our feet.
Cinnamon incense curled nearby.
Open space, but sometimes sandstorms tore through the place,
like his anger did me.

III.
We watched the sunrise from the curve of a planet only he and I could visit.
The catch was, we could only be there as children,
that seemed to manage his upset best,
being small again.
The green grass pierced through with solar excellence.
The sun might have cooked us with being so close,
or blinded us. Instead, we reached hand to hand
and held each other, appreciating everything as it was.

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