A simple poem about infatuation, hope, and a small sense of dignity |
Saturday night, the clock ticks, Beating into my mind like a hammer Against a cracked, wooden board; My heart stops for a second To take a breath from all the racket; The air feels like a thousand swords Penetrating my earthly, cold flesh; Until my sight set itself clear, I was descending from a nasty habit Of believing that I was drifting From the truth I for so long feared; You were standing in the doorway, Swaying your hips against the frame, Smiling in your casual grin And pretending like I wasn't there; I glanced at you through black and white, Feeling something within my head, Determining the cause of my addiction, Through harmony and joy, Pleasure and conviction, Drowning in my own waters, Tasting my own medicine; Your hair flowed like a breeze, Blowing across a desert landscape; Your eyes were closed to the sound Of a song perfectly played To the rhythm of your snake dance; Have you ever dreamed Of taking yourself from this place, On the back of a white stallion Galloping through thunderous rainstorms, Taking a rest at the nearest filling station You could drink the finest water, Feast upon the finest meal, Just don't forget to tip the waiter Before you run out of money; It doesn't matter if you notice me there, Just as long as I see you smile With your velvet lips tasting the sweetness Of a life so beautiful, That it could only be visionary |