These dreams in my head are free,
But to touch the mere skin holds a fee.
This isn't a rhyme to pass by the time in which
I'm always waiting for thee.
Shakespeare would have killed us off by now.
Hemmingway would have laughed and scoffed at our situation,
and then steal the idea and write about it.
Anne Rice would have made us sexy and doomed.
But I?
I write simply but for you.
I dream of things that I wish were true.
I imagine, somteimes my life with you.
And as each step we take in the same direction,
brings us atleast three steps away from any connection.
This human connection of love and lust and this reality of us.
And I don't know if your eyes are sewn shut,
if your pupils exist,
but I pray,
that they see me,
that they see this beast, this elephant in the room,
that awaits us for tea.
So we sip, sip, sip, sip.
Because we're not going to leave.
“We need enormous pockets, pockets big enough for our families, and our friends, and even the people who aren’t on our lists, people we’ve never me but still want to protect. We need pockets for boroughs and for cities, a pocket that could hold the universe.”
No comments:
Post a Comment