3 sentient blues
it’s cool for a summer night,
just enough breeze to move a few strands
of hair without it really being anything
at all…
you run your hand along mine,
almost like it’s a curiosity,
not the sort of thing you think you like,
but realizing this is all nicer
than it ought to be…
the sentient blues of this fleeting scene
keep me wide awake,
a streak of neon glow above the darkening pool,
then the rheumy phosphorescence
of a faintly flickering halogen dome,
just bright enough now
to make out the shape of your lips —
and the final blue is in the magic show
of your sorceress eyes — they shackle me
to the night…
you keep me transfixed here
in a nagging state, somewhere between
a frenzied passion and a familiar despair
— it leaves me vacillating between
percepts — multiple ways in which to view
our truth…
are you the lark? set to smile and sing
and soon fly away…
or are you my dove of peace,
showing me a brighter way?
this black and star-studded New York sky,
this open window into a new July
doesn’t have the answer…
all we know, is that there’s a day of origin,
and it’s still a long way off —
and you’re right…who knows…
just about anything could happen
until then
Garbage Notes: