My little dream of you
for me
about us
it came so quickly to an end
it was rich
though brief
out, out brief candle
its tapestry was replete with tenderness
de longs soupires
des chaleurs du printemps
intense romantic moments to die and live for
now it is finished
it died before it could blossom
like a springtime crocus beheaded by a lawn-mower before flowering
for when the song was over
when the last vibration from the last note screeched into reality
the dream was nothing more than that
an innocent ghost whose soul bears no weight
its substance unquestionnable for its lack of existence
you were not the lover of my dreams
rather I was the fool I always am
and I believed your sweet words
your dark eyes
your earnest lips
your lust
take a little dream and kill it
I'm getting good at it now
I can almost do it in my sleep...
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3 comentaris:
Ouch, mon ami, you hit a nerve with this one. I've lived this. :-(
Yeah, LIAC, and there's no doubt about it. Yet one more notch in the old belt. So how's tricks otherwise?
Well, it appears that there is only so much happiness allotted to a person. When something goes well, it sucks the goodness from another area in life. Now I am LIAC-free, but penniless. It sucks. But, I suppose living on rice is better than living on grief. Though I think grief might be better for the waist line.
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