Home Is Near

The smell, that musky linen haze rushing through my nostrils searing my hearts desire, pulling at nostalgia's ever presence. The city burns at the sight, the touch blisters hands too eager rushing along its glass empire with the feet pitter-patter scaling the caverned walls. 1000miles wedged between, a heart still knows home as it calls for a visit in the
halls of these lungs.

The Sunflower Cafe

The 60 blocks I walked in haste, carrying my bag, guitar and suitcase. My shoulders numb screaming for calm, but my heart just pushed and dragged me along. The building stood out, not for difference in brick or for change in facade, but your love spoke to me, told me where I should stop.   Frozen I stood just feeling the sting, the moment had come but would never again. All those times looking down from a false cameras lens but now here I would stand to breathe it all in. That time we got lost as we looked for a Starbucks, our trip to the museum wishing we could stay for hours, held hands and made our way to the bar with the fireplace, dressed up sexy getting all those looks from strangers who just made us crazy. The loving way you helped those people, the deaf you had the patience for, when all the city in upheaval you could hear the quietest roar. We made love for hours and hours the second we came in the door even-though we'd just made love all the days and days before. The gift of glances, and silly dances burnt in our memories pining for more, the attention to detail as we brushed our skin just fueling the passion we felt within. I don't remember night or shade just the smiles I saw each day, as we wondered the city of rubble and haze. I would spend a whole lifetime like this week if I knew, that we'd just be content the city me and you. No one could change my heart or black out those days, and no-one can ever make me forget, our beautiful visits to the Sunflower Cafe. 

Shutter Me

Shutter me.
On the verge of throwing yourself into a cavern,
As if you weren't in one already that is,
You take the time to think it through
But it only prolongs the inevitable ending boiling inside you,

Warming sickness and crisp nausea tingling inside the belly of the beast,
No words needed for coping a non-existent tragedy,
But you run frightened holding your pieces in a bag marked insecurities,

It's called a life, live it well for you own it in entirety.