I
didn’t watch her, nervous and trembling, shaking a shot.
It
gets that way, a young graduate, and nights alone.
I
capture hope, and bottle gin, ignoring my soul. I catch
up,
and see it breathe, a tad bit grey.
We
ever love, and but a moment, searching for cement.
It’s
an all night test; a web of moods; a sudden shift.
I
love for life, and deadly beauty, a topaz dream. She
stresses
love, afraid to shine, to struggle a father. I
worry,
bent on liquor, to eyeball a psych. The days are
torn,
an essay due, and a sudden crush. It gets that way,
a
silent sky, musing features.
We
spent a novel, filled with laughter, to slip a kiss. How
for
love, a ghetto scene, choking cigars. We parted
gently,
to dig a grave, where she felt, yes. It gets that
way,
sipping and talking, jogging for a memory; and love,
even
a grey science, a total contradiction. I need for it,
as
loud as ants, to whisper love.
To
surge this dream, a way of life, to meet a deadline; and
here’s
a rose, to count for peddles, to seal an oath. We
paint
for wild, a moment gone, searching for a sentence.
I lie, for love is
grand, a second at the park.
