Heads revolving around topics and unanswered questions,
And questions about a lonely fan
Staring at us, revolving its three pedal shaped figures,
Not creating any new air,
Just transcending what we already have to us
Which I find pretty ironic…
But we can’t live without that fan can we?
I lost track of time not because I am lost, but because my phone died on me
Along with all the other people around ;
The unity between material and man…
My coffee, is black
And so is her sweater now half wrinkled half folded over,
Because she can’t seem to figure out a way to sit,
A way to think
A way to sink in the thoughts of the whole universe within one glace of her beautiful eyes-
Bumping into mine;
And our eye contact couldn’t stand longer than two seconds,
But in those two seconds,
I met her,
I got to know her better,
We went on our first date
I created a whole scenario about us living together and having a child running to me saying
“dad, how did you meet mommy” but child I never did…
Smiling faces, joyful faces
Shape the vibe of the coffee shop that has been my sanctuary for the summer;
The summer of “enchanter”, blue silver and white lights
Long walks on the shores of my chores,
And thoughts that were once yours
Until you sent me those messages
And from that day I realized I am alone.
I am alone for when I met you,
You told me the story of how once you were a child
Growing up between warheads and air headed brothers,
And fairy dust brushed off of the VCR tapes from your favorite movies
Which are now nothing but old 90’s classics.
When I met you,
You talked to me of how you want to become a fashion designer,
And visit france and sleep in paris
Stopping time right at the moment when you find your prince charming,
Because if time passes by and you grow old
You lose track of things and time and not cause your phone died on you
But because you are lost.
You are lost in space and time for when
I met you, you told me about past crushes and crushed hearts,
Future plans and undiscovered parts;
But you never told me about you now…who you are…
As if it was my job to discover that,
As if I was obliged to read the signs in your desperate eyes
And come up with a full analysis of the thing that is you
On a white sheet, same as the one I was writing on
Before I cried poetry upon it;
And poetry becomes fire when in contact with the air I breathe,
And so I choke on ashes every time I see you
For the poetry I wanna write could not be spoken so I just keep it inside;
I just keep it inside and choke on it…