I'm watching the space girls as they go by, With their high rise boots and their low-cut shirts. I'm watching them waltz through the abyss With not a care in the world. I'd write thousands of poems for my space girls If only to watch their lips read a work of mine. I'd paint a masterpiece for my space girls If only to hear them speak of something I created. I'd wear elegant dresses for my space girls If only to watch their eyes scan me up and down. I'd compose rhapsodies and melodies for my space girls If only to watch them bop along to the gentle beats. If only to know that they listened to my Music to watch space girls by.
You're dazzling and calm, yet bursting with passion. Yes, you carry fiery stares that would cut through me. So elegant and poised in everything you do and I can't help but feel inadequate compared to you.
We visited an art museum today “The Guggenheim” with it’s white spiraling architecture I felt slightly cultured as I flipped through a book detailing an artist whose last name I vaguely recall started with a Q Conveniently forgetting the very reason for my presence in that room being to charge my phone Feeling educated as I recognize the names Matisse, Lautrec from my brief intro to art history courtesy of our overly enthusiastic design teacher Basking in my elegance, taking petit little bites, of a macaroon in a cafe outside the museum ...Before noisily slurping my blood red ice tea