The workshop floor is dirty
the butchers have hung up their hooks
what I would give
for a second of bliss
or even a passing look
from your eyes
that feel to me
like heaven trapped in a shell
that are weary + weak +
endlessly bleak +
still I'm under your spell
we're like two ships that sail
in circles
looking for the port
at least that's what I thought
what I was thinking
when I met you in a moment
your smile is potent +
I wish that it would never
slide from off your face
my saving grace is poems
+ ones you'll never read
but will sing into infinity
singing
'you mean so much to me'
______________________
I wonder if you'd care to read
that words that from my heart do bleed
the words that tumble from my pen
onto the page +
then again
do not signify
a dot of all the love I feel
that seems so truly
unreal +
yet more vivid than
the ruins in Rome +
Al Capone +
all the history I was taught
had more worth +
more import
than a blissful second
amongst the trees
just Oak + Birch +
you + me
what a happy place to be
I'll dream it now +
if the dream
sets
into reality
I'll count myself a lucky man
+ if not then
what a dream
I'm thankful I had it inside my head
for even a moment
before I was dead
