Cotton ball clouds pasted on
a finger-painted backdrop
bringing back weeks and years
of trance-like memories of a
playground romance, with me
and a song screaming from the
top reaches of a cupola
I stared up into. We made dreams,
in that air we shared, as smoke
drifted up from my cig (such
mesmerizing tribal designs I
barely noticed your curtains closing).
That last night, as I climbed the
gutter of our rooftop getaway
in awe of your celestial beauty,
you cried to me this performace.
Before I could touch that bit
of cloth you let fly with the winds,
I had run out of pipe and fell
on top of the school where
we first started this affair during recess,
oh, so many years ago.
Maybe I was just a star chaser,
but isn't a dream the start of
every goal hopefully reached?
 Lovers Never Tell · Thu Jul 24, 2008 @ 09:36am · 0 Comments |
