life is long; the rivers and lakes in which i treaded
had held their breath all along, but really who
could have guessed it? in a year or two
the current will have swept me to your house
with a light on and black smoke angling out,
or it will have not - and that remains to be seen.
and what else? well whenever you're on my mind
you still have the eyes of brown mountain sunset,
an american girl in a small spanish village
drinking tinto de verano as the plaza
is swept clean with shadows. no other people,
no canary dresses, no blush or mascara-
in the singular crystals of my loving,
you're still here. i rotate them
and you still everchange with them,
in anger and in coyness, in shortness
of speech and in the convoluted way
you say the simplest things. but
what more? or, where are you tonight?
what will you decide after another night
of light eating and wine,
after i hail down a taxi for you on the street?
standing face to face, the back door open,
i suppose it remains to be seen.
we know the night is long, life is long, and i can go on forever
when the days roll into never and the lions
perch themselves up in the trees;
but that's not how it has to be at all,
but that's not how it has to be.
here, My Dear, here it is
Last edited by SubwayToVenus at Jul 20, 2011,