The most beautiful woman we both
know
is Tequila.
She wears a glass dress
that clashes when she dances
Makes a high pitch
ringing noise.
Tip her over.
Spill her
out.
Tip her back and drink
in her life.
Then stay the night
until I can taste death and
then become born again.
Is it a sunrise in my room?
Or is that where the sun sets?
I dont know, so
you tell me.
My head is pounding
from this light. The
way it seeps into my brain and
tries to stay.
Push it out.
I want to run away.
Let's get on a plane and fly
to Paris.
Let's just go.
Forget the world
and leave the Greeks and
fugitive slaves behind. Let
them worry about
themselves.
Birds migrate
to a place that's warm and
inviting.
A giant bird of metal
descends into heaven.
A heaven on fire.
We can walk the streets.
The ones I want to dance on,
under the stars blanketed in
the dark sky.
The stars.
My stars. French Stars.
Do you ever just laugh at
them? The stars?
It's silly to think they go on
for eternity.
I just saw one fall.
Like your hand to mine.
Collide with the earth.
Defective star.
Ignorant mass of Sun.
Find me a place to sleep for the night.
Snow white
minus six.
The wasted sun will wake my wasted
eyes.
Then we can walk.
Till the ends of the earth begin
and we can stay in
the beloved
city so
long we could stand
at each painting at the
Louvre
for hours.
Listen to me as I attempt to
be a philosopher.
Look at me like you're listening,
and listening to Mona Lisa.
Then we can go dancing.
Outside.
And maybe we wont be cold.
This time.
And maybe,
just maybe,
it will rain.