a song of anticipation
follows black leather footsteps
seconded by the pitter-pattering of a fist-sized machine.
i am jailed by your memory
these sparks of sunlight and walls of scented smoke and brownwood-rimmed picture frames
of evening coffee stains and cherry lip gloss
rent spaces at the back of my head.
eventually this present becomes a cage
and i , a restless bird fearing flight,
am longing instead to return
and rest in the warmth of your embrace
follows black leather footsteps
seconded by the pitter-pattering of a fist-sized machine.
i am jailed by your memory
these sparks of sunlight and walls of scented smoke and brownwood-rimmed picture frames
of evening coffee stains and cherry lip gloss
rent spaces at the back of my head.
eventually this present becomes a cage
and i , a restless bird fearing flight,
am longing instead to return
and rest in the warmth of your embrace
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Isn’t it beautiful?
01/28/07(My) heart is swimming in words
formed by the wind.
(My) voice carried
by a cloudy tommorrow.
A mirror moved
by the moon, trembled my heart.
Soft tears
filled with a stream of stars.
Isn't it beautiful?
Two of us walking hand in hand.
I want to go to
your town, your home, your arms.
I dream of lying
against your chest.
My body in your clasp,
disappearring into the evening.
Words stopped by the wind
are a gentle illsion.
A cloud-torned tommorrow is
a far-away voice.
My heart has been
in a moon-blocked flowing
mirror.
Stars that swayed and flowed
can't hide my tears.
Isn't it beautiful?
Two of us walking hand in hand.
I want to go to
your town, your home, your arms.
I dream of your face
that softly melts in the
morning.
