Isn't it just like the wind to stir things up,
when you're trying to be quiet?
For here we sit, each within different zip codes of this new life, doing our best to deny that it’s happening just like we willed it, and still, w/out any temptation to deny its reality.
Lights flicker up from the console, and no matter how wide she sings,
still, I can hear another’s voice pouring through me,
passed the audio adrenaline that permeates through this darkness
that I’m trying to dispel from within.
She sings; where is the freedom I’ve left behind,
And here I am wondering about gazebos and running water in my mind
In this room the heat pipes up past the breezes of her voice, and still there’s nothing that moves me past the rhythms generated between us.
Me, I should have called beautiful..
