Running naked through the ruins of Detroit,
deep embrace against a graffitied wall.
The clink of spent bottles chime with passion's song,
and echoed down a forgotten hall.

Bombed out, Nagasakieque, sur-reality,
a strange and desolate aphrodisiac.
Ghosts watch our post-apocalyptic tryst,
through every wrecking ball crack.

With patchouli scented hair of reddish brown,
she's taken me to the forgotten side of town.

Paradise, hidden among the rubble.
But only for the discerning eye.
Her pen painted poetic justice here,
and tried to reveal the reasons why.

Street coney's and cold bottles of Stroh's
could not be scuttled in the wake.
Its someone's hometown, no matter what,
though it looks like hell for heaven's sake.

With patchouli scented hair of reddish brown
she's taken me to the forgotten side of town.

Like some lost and lonely stray, she takes it in,
dusts it off, and holds it to her heart.
Sees promise in every burnt out factory,
and hope in every unattended park.

Empty crack houses sleep down the darkened alleyways,
like effigies awaiting to be burned.
The clock tower is stuck on borrowed time,
with hands waiting to be turned.

With patchouli scented hair of reddish brown
she's taken me to the forgotten side of town.

And on our cardboard mattress
and the last few sips of wine,
the stars never looked so good to me,
her body never so fine.

Perfection amid controlled chaos,
eloquent profanities.
She dances naked in the moonlight,
and quelled our insanities.

With patchouli scented hair of reddish brown
she's taken me to the forgotten side of town.

*Inspired by "Ghost Gardens" a poem by Rebecca Askew