maybe there's a window

maybe there's a window
where the moon can be pretty
our coffee can cool off
as the sky turns to red
and somehow we don't know
why the stars are so gritty -
we are in this stand-off
for our battle in bed

in blowing our labors
we stood up in covers
of clouds led by contours
we slept on in night
the sky's what we savor
and the swirls are our lovers,
but somehow we're hunters
with our deep spears in fright

will i am this burning
that keeps your room blooming
which raptures the valor
that you hope to dream
your stomach is churning
from the blood we are dooming
to coffee and colors
of the white seeping beams