Flights of the heart

On nights like these
I fill the span of my bed with flowers
And embellish my pillow with stars
I carefully place a few dew drops on my bed sheet
They burst into a spectacular sparkle
Every time I turn in my solitary bed

On nights like these
I put an incense stick in each corner of the room
The room that gets even bigger in its emptiness
And as the smoke fills this room
I look up to the ceiling and smile at it
"You can never be my ceiling", I tell it
"You will never be"

On nights like these
I keep my palm close to my cheek
I push the other hand under the pillow
I lie prostrate
The heart feels closer that way.

As I hear it beat, I know
Although my feet are captive of the earth
My heart takes a flight now and then.

My nomadic heart knows, I live for those flights...