Dec 2016
My back was cold on the bathtub
and the candles licked the walls
There was a different pianist
every night
In the bumblebee rooms
These buildings I'm told
are over 100 years old
From Larimer where Kerouac
roamed
He sat by the heater and listened
to Billy Holiday's " Lover Man"
Jazz and blues
Walking the streets hoping
I would meet someone on the
December noon
Electric, wandering
Warming his hands in
the night
Fountain of water under
two trees
frozen in the December eve
Smoky cigarette lamps under
cloudy Moon's
And I'm still thinking of you
and the candles licked the walls
There was a different pianist
every night
In the bumblebee rooms
These buildings I'm told
are over 100 years old
From Larimer where Kerouac
roamed
He sat by the heater and listened
to Billy Holiday's " Lover Man"
Jazz and blues
Walking the streets hoping
I would meet someone on the
December noon
Electric, wandering
Warming his hands in
the night
Fountain of water under
two trees
frozen in the December eve
Smoky cigarette lamps under
cloudy Moon's
And I'm still thinking of you
This poem is an inside tale, personal, private. But I chose to share it anyway. It's where you find yourself in a scenario that really accentuates your more romantic view of life and to try and stay realistic, grounded and practical.
