the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Money Shot

I get my wish against the wind,
Looking for calm pockets of air
Your eyes hide behind
The locks of your hair.
Lovely hair.
Sprawled in the grass,
We let the good times pass,
And I am still young again.

I let my childhood go,
It floats.
It catches the air
And raises my hopes.
This is the simple glory of flight
Backdropped on dramatic skies.
...And these eyes are far from worthy.

She's willingly helpless to the uncontested
Stockholm Syndrome, so well invested
In her heart.
That tears her apart.
That sets her apart.

Wings are for angels
And I'm not there yet.
After seventeen times,
Here's one final bet.
I'll be the blindest of pilots
From the kindest of drinks,
Alcoholic.
Symbolic.
Sweet like sinks full of honey.
I'm calling shots in the dark,
And this one is money.

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