And it has come to this, a cold night with nothing more than your smiles to cover my nakedness. We wished that you had left before it all started to go south but our mouths were just flowering cactus gardens and our proposed dreams nothing more than crushed gravel meanderings. You said to pick up the slack and man did we. We worked all those extra hours and sat down to small grey walls with our lunch pails on our knees and eyes primed to the hour hand. And when you said create art we did, not knowing what art actually was so we scribbled and we screamed and we splattered each other over canvases that stretched entire city blocks. Our dreams never seemed to come out like the back of our paint by numbers box and you said darling that it'd be all right, well I've been waiting here love for more than a few hours and it seems like I can't even remember the COLOR OF YOUR EYES, just the shape of your breath! Our laughs echoed down subway tunnels and returned to us with hints of sunken cities and lies that grew wings and strategems in dark buried places. Secrets roam the streets these days and we believe them to be gods! Yes I am now an acolyte to more than three deities and juggling altar, incense and sacrifice makes up for none of those overtime hours. I wish you were here my love but that post card you sent was quite magnificent. You always think of the little touches and I've forgotten how they felt.
"A paitent plea"
Be still and wait,
Concentrate. Do not run
Into something
That has not yet begun.
Enjoy you age
And do not wage war
To form a life
So quick to strife.
Be still.
You’ll find your wife
And more.
Before you speak,
Wake up and speak
Truth and honesty
And to not be weak
To mindless passion
The cultural fashion
Of love.
Be still.
Cancel soft inhibitions,
Drown your premonitions
Of the bitter thing
You’ve called a “fling”
And sing for her
To come
While you are still
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