The first musing
Finally, a door opens on a busy city street,
and the faint sound of a billowing streetcar on the run
leaves my hands
a sweaty mess
and a picture of you
steps into my quivering mind.
It appears as no man might see it
eyes a set frame
from there to the strand of hair that lies
so precariously on your cheek
mirroring the things you say
out of the blue
and as bold as the day is new.
In a dream
(She is the camera’s dark-eyed ghost,
faded and half-captured before the lens could flash.
I see all of her
She’s a winning horse eh?
I’d bet on her yet, had I even an ounce of courage
has been the only thing
I seem to lack.
yes, she is the camera’s dark-eyed ghost
she is the camera’s dark-eyed ghost
she is the camera’s dark-eyed ghost…),
the second musing
Then there is also that strange fascination I have with
WHICH WE SEEM TO HAVE
A LOT OF.
Tell me, dear,
why you seem to lack the ability
to keep your promises to the other side?
I can certainly stand the game
but not if you weren’t even allowed to play.
If something held you back that
didn’t even have to do with me, I mean
What of it then? Would it be any fun?
Would I even
laugh like it was some sort of taunting joke,
a rhetorical question which you so obviously know the answer to?
I’ll answer, in my own good time,
the answer’s not the point, is it?
The answer, perhaps,
to lie in your arms
while somewhere in the distance
my insides let out a scream so well muffled
that it’s vibration would only cause a slight tremor
in the ripples of the air.
Now you bat at it,
and the sound of me wafts through the open window.
take a look at it, you say
that is the true
but In reality
the only sound we can emit
is stone cold
the third musing
Perhaps I can deceive myself into believing
that when the music sings of you
you were simply
whispering a song
into the empty ears of a stranger
or to me
as I lie thinking
in the late, late abandoned hours of the night.
Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry