An annoying scratch at the back of the back of the throat. The simplistic serenade of a fine tuned guitar. The moon huge, the stars bright. We lay here on the roof of hope. We stare into eachothers eyes. We whisper bits of truth, bits of lies. Electricity fills the warm air. How much of this is real? I stare in awe at his lips, the countors of his face, his silhouette in the night sky above. A sudden screech of a loud speaker, a slur of the words, a blur of the colors.
"You're not supposed to understand!" he yelled back. A slam of a door, a leap of faith. His feet leave the shingles. The flutter of wings follow an unfogiving sound.
"You're not supposed to understand!" he yelled back. A slam of a door, a leap of faith. His feet leave the shingles. The flutter of wings follow an unfogiving sound.
© m.f. /Roxywaters May 2007
No comments:
Post a Comment