night turns into day
coffee flips backwards up
winding and winding staircases
you can fit houses and buildings
into her suitcase
and possess the north wind
all in your pocket
skydive without a parachute
make music without a guitar
and all the geese flying in slow motion
hot air balloons stopping in mid air
its as real as can be
drawings and words and paperwork
playing tag on a winter's night
but now all thats left
is the spilt coffee
uncleaned steps
my age catching up
i always knew your stories
were too good to be true
