You slip through the screen with a ghost of a tread
Where the Monstereas bow their heavy green head
The loam in the pot smells of peat and of rain
You walk through the door like a long-forgotten vein
The kettle is humming a low silver tune
The scent of Earl Grey fills the white afternoon
You pace by the tiles where the linoleum glows
The warmth of the steam hits the tip of your nose
Oh, you are the patch in the golden light
Returning alone in the middle of night
A calico ghost with a hunger so deep
While the rest of the garden is falling asleep
You brush past the Pothos that climbs up the wall
You wait for the drop of a porcelain fall
The copper pot shimmers a burnished dark red
The memory of milk is a thread in your head
Oh, you are the patch in the golden light
Returning alone in the middle of night
A calico ghost with a hunger so deep
While the rest of the garden is falling asleep
Settle your weight on the cold wooden floor
You don't need a key or a knock at the door
Just a soft little purr and a blink of the eye
Under a heavy and indigo sky
The Sansevieria stands like a blade
In the corner of rooms where the memories fade
You curl in a circle of orange and black
The kind of a love that keeps calling you back
The tea leaves are settling deep in the cup
The moon in the window is finally up
You stretch out your paws on the checkered design
A wild little heart on a domestic line
Oh, you are the patch in the golden light
Returning alone in the middle of night
A calico ghost with a hunger so deep
While the rest of the garden is falling asleep
Stay for a while.
Just stay for a while.
In the golden light.
