tommy's ghost
07/05/09, 06:46 PM
We dance on celluloid floors,
On faces of open doors.
We tango on their performance,
On marauded ordinance.
We wear the roads on our sleeves,
As our touch gives us direction.
Our lips are grafted with aloe-leaves,
Each of their encounters, perfection.
These things are bound to lose their impact
As eras erode their timelessness.
Like a car-crash
Watched through a door’s crack.
Or a knife’s stab
Felt through protective pads.
But for now,
I’ll take pride in
Sticking my rose into your spokes,
And watching
The wonderful accident provoked.
On faces of open doors.
We tango on their performance,
On marauded ordinance.
We wear the roads on our sleeves,
As our touch gives us direction.
Our lips are grafted with aloe-leaves,
Each of their encounters, perfection.
These things are bound to lose their impact
As eras erode their timelessness.
Like a car-crash
Watched through a door’s crack.
Or a knife’s stab
Felt through protective pads.
But for now,
I’ll take pride in
Sticking my rose into your spokes,
And watching
The wonderful accident provoked.