16000
You are street talking, edge of culture dripping in French accent
Autumn leaves embrace the curls and nasal of your passage
Behind each muscle is their aggression? Is there fate tempting a hand of time am I walking in path narrow
Polite reserved and unperturbed by your nature
Still as quiet night as I have taken flight
Crass on the brass and the displacement and sadness of their day
Those whose ladies threw feminie ease into sheets searching for their fathers, black Kings who left nothing but abandonment
I nod to their approval knowing I left myself with nothing days instead of sheets not reaching out and to another
FInding myself as my only lover
So now I can't reach to you, I am stuck on whimisical plain
Nothing in vain as the cry of the winter has our footprints saying
It's name.
