Dripping down my back
I’ve come along for the magic of night
Singing to my reflection ahead
Eyes wide open I’m inside myself
Forgetting all the bows I tied
While waiting by your side
A test I left unwritten, un-scribed
For distractions had taken the best of me
Towards an un-planted tree
Soil so deep I lost my shovel
And turned my soil to better ground
To grow the bio I dream of
Where magic of night shall leave behind
A day to open me up wide
I picked up a postcard today
With such delicate, serene beauty
I didn’t want to write on the back;
I didn’t want to scar the surface
Of the unmarked landscape.
I held the postcard in my hand
Flipping it from front to back
Not quite sure how to decide
Which side was for me,
And which side was a gift.
To be a small boat putting by
Through inner harbor’s gait,
Would be like worker bees ashore
Minding to the hive.
And when nighttime should come at last
Finding a dock to rest,
One could only hope to find
Night life to pass the time.
For if my lonely soul could cry,
A sputtering on I would go,
To and fro, back and forth
A small boat amidst the sea.
When are you going to turn the music back on?
I’ve sat her for a while now
Wondering to myself
Should I suggest a new album
Or enjoy the silent humming
Visiting my ouroboros thought pattern.
I picture something with a nice bassline
Hopefully some creamy smooth lead
That will do a better job
Of snaking my thoughts around
Too many small stools
Lacking proper back support.