El desierto paisaje
mítico susurros secretos
de asustados oídos;
justo debajo de siembra
el viento como palabras
afiladas como espadas
de las pesadillas
valientes de corazón –
lealtades a perdido
tus oã dos,
que no puede oír,
por las minas…
y vicios –
el aire viciado
de todos los años…
I’ll give it to the guy, he’s patient as dead elephant when it comes to my essentially dragging him around behind me aimlessly, during the grips of a random expeditious episode on my part. He usually seems quite content in just silently trailing, hands in his Pendleton pockets…it takes him at least an hour to even chime in with something like, “Uhhhh, should I Google Map it?”
What a trooper, the lil’ shit.
You aren’t afraid of the blue in my eyes,
Like I do not fear the flash of your grin;
You have no problem with keeping the flow,
I have no problem with putting out the rhythm.
You never cease to amaze me,
And I never fail to let you come in;
You never hesitate to plunder my riches,
I never forget to invite you back again.
Yours wasn’t a story too sad to tell,
Mine is still a nightmare playing itself out;
Ours is just a sweaty, naked one,
Without any dialogue to be written out.
You aren’t put off by the only way that I love,
I’m never offended by the lack on your end;
You never care when I don’t show up,
I never have to lie or pretend.
You are so wholesome and pure to the brim,
I am non-bio-degradable pond-scum;
And so it goes, this balancing show,
Until you do it all – undone.