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| Photo by Ranch Ramas |
My;
unanointed words used to be enough for the common man—
from the layman to the politic
It differs with the woman, so I hear; how have I never noticed before?
That your eyes never quite stray
from where the light hits
and your lips wait for a song
I shall try a different approach
If my hands are clean, maybe I could slip them right into—
Yours?
On the contrary,
I enjoy the endless chatter
and hum of radio static
for I know
it is the song that waits.
You need not lead me to the dance floor
Instead, sit with me and listen,
first
as dawn breaks with the morning news
and rush-hour traffic
dayparts of soft condolences
and lottery zeal
until the voices repeat themselves
Are we so tired?
should we not stand where everyone can see
As I hold you by the hand and promise?
To sway to soft lullabies
and march to staccato?
If so, no need to forfeit dances, no?
Maybe, so long as the best ones are saved
for last
