Tired eyes tell the best stories, of a haze between dreams and being awake. Where teeth chatter like lines to a central london tube station, people make tea with the bags under their eyes. Eyes that can only show me your face, the champagne bubbles of your laugh, the breeze of your voice. Knees rattle like clinks of spoons, chest heavy like a wind turbine and when i say you blow me away, i mean i pray you’ll find the nerve to ask me to stay.