Sips of Dust

your room was dusty
but i didn't mind.
your dust smelled like frankincense and was never really seen because your room had no windows
your dust was the dust of a young man
the dust of obscure library books and crafted relics of saints you invented
saints i later prayed to
there was no dust under your bed
because you just had bamboo mats and some squishy foam as your bed
(i hated it when i helped you move and you told me you found that foam on the street).
but i did love that bed, before the move.
i loved not knowing when it was morning in your room
because that meant that we could stay just a little longer
until we couldn't resist looking at the clock.
i would have taken sips of your dust if i could
your dusty room was the labratory of my first love