High (What I Thought)

effectively getting through your head
(disassembling your bed)
it makes me happier to think you're alone
(although that's probably not the case at all)
turning your presence into poetry
(i hope you hear me in every violent breeze)
to think that things would play out
fine points in the margins
find plots between the lines and
staying up so many countless nights
to be so calm, cool, collected
so reserved and patient
all you ever wanted or at
least that's what i thought.