behind thick curtains
drinking hot tea leaving
swirling trails of smoke
and carefully combed hair
benignly denying the fact that
behind his beard
behind her glasses
is love and only love

we shall dance and not be too tired
for we have loved for years and
will no longer deny this but
if that mustache is indicative of anything
we shall spill the liquor and forget ourselves
momentarily
for we are artists
with beautiful artistic hands
and beautiful artistic eyes that see
putting together pieces of ourselves
and fitting them into each other
to see things in a whole new light

and even if we eat from garbage cans
and never have clean water to wash our hands
we have our skin
who has seen us through seeing through each other

something about this wild girl scares me
in her eyes i cannot see
anything that even remotely
reminds me of me

and the mirror is quite smooth
reflective indeed
but this jacket and sulky pout
cannot possibly be suiting me

her curly head of curls
must equally be filled with dreams
but i shall never know
what she hopes for me

quite silent is she
(so silent and yet free)
but if she says not even a thing
then i suppose i shall have to let her be

the french doors are wide
open art stretches beyond
outrageous boundaries

death is a very serious way to go
for those who live without hope

but we might know better
we usually think we know better
singing in post offices and planes
proclaiming the name of the man who saved us all
whether we like it or not

and truth is truth

maybe all we long for is the comfort of knowing
living in suitcases and bags is no way of living
and if he looks in my eyes well
i just don't know how i'll get through this one
immunity only lasts so long
we'll all catch this; we'll all catch on

most of the time when we dance
we close our eyes and touch
the stars are too close
and we feel the rush

so neatly place your mouth on mine
like a bow on a gift
or sprinkles on top

i hate maybes more
than math- there is certainly
solidarity

certainly with certainty