And Silver Spun Sand (I.P.)

“I’ll draw down the blinds;
it’s getting kind of late,” but
I know you don’t hear me,
as you stare into space
at the stars through the window...
like you, miles away, and yet
your touch seems to tell me
what your lips do not say.

I hold you gently in my arms,
and hear your heart speak, true,
as the smell of night-time jasmine
softly wafts into our room – heady
with your perfume of moonlight
and of musk, and a weary sun’s
submission to a dally-day dusk.

The Sandman will be coming –
he’ll be at your bedside soon,
if you close those sleepy eyes,
he will take you to the moon.
You would stand on your tiptoes,
and reach out your hand; feel
its seas spawned from shadows
fringed by silver spun sand.

In the blink of an eyelid,
we can be there, me and you;
we can go there right now
without leaving this room.
But don’t stand on tiptoes...
only reach out your hand –
I’ll be right there beside you
on the silver spun sand.

There’s a bay made from rainbows –
a sea filled with showers, and a lake
full of dreams, and the dreams
could be ours. There’s a place
where forever seems to swallow
the sky, where we’ll slide down
our rainbow – kiss the moon goodbye.

So hold on to me tightly, we’ve
a long way to go; the beating
of our hearts will power our dynamo.
Very soon we are flying – the air
and the sky falling soft on your lips
like a blue-winged butterfly. Let
your fantasies take you through time
and through space, whilst my fingers,
so tenderly, caress your sweet face.

Shines through the open window
a dappled-day light and silver spun sand
turns golden through white. A breeze
rustles the curtains and ruffles your hair
as we fly back to earth as fast as we dare.

You wake, for a moment, and tell me
of your dream; a journey to the moon,
you said, convinced that you’d been. I smile
as I watch you go straight back to sleep,
and silver spun sand shines like stars
on your feet.

You didn’t stand on tiptoes...
you just reached out your hand
you gave me the moon
and silver spun sand.