Two. It’s what they want
To make love with tonight
They see me as the most loving
Morning in an outgoing horizon
And an old friend has her hair
In blonde like honey styled up as curls
Pin combs and innumerable wheels
That resemble her tendrils
On boards and shoes people skating
Rolling around
Under the bridge
I am singing Guardian Angel
I can hit every note
Word for word as unrecognizable people
Are also chiming in
All circling in their own space
I am asking
How can someone that tried
So hard fail so badly
How can he be so good at it
And feel so bad afterwards
Dumb good
Smart bad
We all fold ours differently
Perhaps the end will feel better
Than starting over again of course
Clarity versus mystery
Hypnosis holds the key
If the puzzle has no facts
How can the picture possibly be real
If he lost his discovery
In your eyes
At the edge of your coat
The silver cannot be won
The kingdom of his heart
Is broken
Reeds are blowing at every passage
And the meaning is unable to reveal
An actual identity without a contract
Like a certificate of birth
And still the womb knows
What it held
It needs no paperwork to prove
A love for beholding it’s
Internal miracle
© GÄ
Poétique 