A leading word from you,
a call from your clouds,
would flood me,
dry in the valleys
without you.
Eating smiles,
You leave your central home without thought.
You do not need shoes.
The world is bearing your hardships,
with broken kingdoms flapping in the wind.
Your heart considers me,
My high gloss weeping and homey pleading,
And donates your medicinal attention
elsewhere.
Miniature Moon 