Your tired waitress feet
inspire my lips to do impressions
of cumulous clouds
drifting through your toes
as I listen to your conciousness float
from tedious toil
to jellyfish bliss
and if I am allowed to be a continuing participant
in these shared flotations
I will cherish every hourglass grain
swimming time laps(e)
on surface observation planes
and I suppose that's evidence
of the perception possible deeply
in which I do believe
my mind
is already a lazy raft resident
in this chammomile dream
in which I do relieve my day's dull moments
marveling at the absence of toxicity in your soul
living on the taste of after-lips
and allowing the current's electricity
to design the invitation
to the next late night tea party
I hope I'm seeing off in the distance.