Push past the homeless people.
Step over the waist-high garbage piles.
Ignore that triple digit bar tab.
That smell? Snub your nose.
The music is but a hum in my ear.
Everything is background.
You. You are what I reach for in this place.
I step in line with your off-tempo pace.
I spend lavishly, for money is cyclical.
Your perfume is all I smell, so mystical.
All I need to hear is your voice,
It carries me from here- your choice.
I am a sucker for your love
Though it is not pure as white dove
I hope it to be eternal
I pray it to be immortal
I realize your limitations
And I’m not too stupid to realize imitations.
There is fake, there is real
What I can promise of how I feel
Is that my words, these words,
They are forever, like hymnal chords.
For when our vessels fail and the end is near,
History will remember my prayer.
I want to know what you, the reader, thinks. Consider leaving a comment and I will reply!
Primitive Poetry 