Always been the one who works off emotion.
Magnetically attracted to the corner of the room.
Always make decisions based on feel, not logic.
Can’t pinpoint just one reason why
you never leave my thoughts.
And all I want to do is run away,
with you.
Lay down and laugh life away,
with you.
Fly to find the fogs of Ireland,
with you,
Adore the morning smiles,
with you.
So show me, show me why I couldn’t stop glancing,
why this feeling lasts.
Show me, show me everything I need to see,
and I’ll show you everything of love and all that is pretty.
Collar lipstick,
velvet walls,
intoxication,
surrounded by all,
that we seem to ignore,
when we dance to our beat.
Two people alone
in this very big world.
Rustled sheets,
cut up wristbands,
haste spills out from our lips
and our palms.
Turning a corner to a wide open road,
where winter skies don’t match
the green trees and a prettier feeling.
Did that happen? Did it really happen?
A legitimate fear of waking up
from this potential life.
Alone on a crowded boulevard,
the souls synchronize.
I normally use a compass
to pinpoint the direction
of exactly how we got here,
but this time I don’t care to
look past the “right in front of me,”
so I’ll take it for what it is,
beautiful.
Half asleep
or half awake,
I’m struggling to tell.
Yawns occur
at rates unknown,
contagious like a spell.
Drawings shape
on your front page,
it’s admiring to watch.
Waiting for
the day that comes
we just sit down to talk.
I miss the way
you’d make me try
just as much
as I miss your smile.
And all the words
you love to speak
and fill up pages
of my belief
in something real,
something warm.
Nothing to replace
the look you gave
when running up
a child’s dream.
Sights and sounds
take you around
to a wondrous encampment
of spinning lights and fireflies.
Ticket stubs
and ringing bells.
Balls to throw
at jugs of milk
often end
in empty-handed promises
or thinking there’s still hope.
“Next time,” you believe.
But one day you’ll find
a way out
of the house of mirrors
and be on your way home.
For every million drops,
there is one catch.
And we clutch it tight,
just like the first time.
The leaves fall intermittently
as the wind brushes by.
And we are reminded
of the greater nature.
I’ve come here to tell you
of this place I found,
hidden behind the bookcase door,
but you don’t read much.
Why would I tell?
Why should you know?
The answer to the questions
you’ll never ask will simply be…
Waste me,
so I can waste you,
and pretend that
the piano keys are never wrong.
I’ve been waiting here,
with a lack of moxie,
as the notes
drip out of my ears.
Stay here,
so I can stay too,
and sing you some words
to lift you up and over.
The wall is taller,
when you think about it,
but the film score
will soften the fall.
Wandering nights
and walls for balance beams.
Spinning tops
and flash light dreams.
Wasted moves for improvidence.
The impasse awaits.
A questioned materiality
is often forgiven by falling leaves.
Reds and yellows.
Orange and green
Grass blanketed by the
prettiest month you ever did see.
Vows of desires
hindered by a self-indulgent
exploit. All that you ever wanted.
Undeveloped days spent under the sheets.