imitation
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Speak to me
Emerson & Thoreau
Speak to me
Let me be alone with the stars
I am me, no imitation
Obeying my inner voice,
The rain comes
On piano wielding fingertips
Serenading the city
With a song
That can never repeat.
And then, it is gone.
When room lights are out, everything blurs together.
Shadows start to take form and grab squirming bodies tight.
Always dyed black, they’re never anything fun—
Like fuchsia pink blossoms,
“I brush away the shadows and all the stars leave cries;
I kiss you good night and all is calm again;
(I believe my love for you extends to the skies.)
