Monday, February 16, 2009

Time Machine

I was dreaming I had a time machine to return to just last night
when I kissed you and for your swift requite I couldn't stop the plight
of taking you quickly, as gripped by your intentions, into my arms to hold
and keeping you still naked but close beside me underneath the covers from cold

I was writing some words; creating a feeling and imagining a mood
when you sat right beside me asking why I'd write and not look at you
so I showed you what I'd wrote that far and fulfilled my fictional prophecy
and who'd have thought those words would step off the page into reality so honestly

yes, dreaming of the night I was, from the moment I awoke and had to leave
turn back the hands of time I prayed out loud and for them not a second I grieved
and paced the steps down from your room to be outside and stop to glance up
at your room and the curtains still a little open and think of how one night's never enough

so I pulled out my pen and paper and picked up where last night left off
and wrote the rest of the truth that happened and concluded with the cost
of not being able to know you mostly now or even close to an end as forever
and how though I know of care I'm long-term incapable I'll always remember when we were together

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other people waiting

we're not strangers anymore