how do you tell stories
(a poignant motion forms a theory about an ideal)
of all the new dreamers
(it pivots itself around its irreplaceable vulnerability)
a movementpaced slowa sifting sort ofclandestinebeckoned bya smilereturnedback to memellowit disappearsbefore I canreach out andgraspthe ends ofthe creases and
What have you taken from my lifeA smile upon which we all danceWhat kind of travels have you foundA beginning at a home not of your own
Such a lonely shyA tickled thinkerQuietly sits next toAll the lovely peopleSlowly collected over time
Somewhere lightBounces off the floorBetween the pulsesYour feet sway toWithin the shiftsYour hips groove toWith the tensionOur arms play toAnd I can’t helpBut be mesmerizedBy theTenderDisarmingCadenceOf your dance
I looked into the skiesThey were blackAnd not so whiteI was following the linesThat you had madeWe had a simple little planIt was coldAnd not so litI extended my handSlowly you were wrapped inMaybe somedayI could turn the skiesBlack againThe stars would rain lightDeep inside…
Had it been easyTo take our grains of sandAnd build our mountainWe would all be sitting cross-leggedEyes glazed to the chilled summit windsOn our pointed peaks staringInto the infinity above
Bound with a rhymebetween our frame
The subtle touchthat wraps aroundfrom endto end
