heartbeat songs

I.
and what is of this life?
oh - open soul, brilliant and burning with possibility,
where beauty is blackened and black is beautiful.
where the laziness of the afternoon was the only heart beating in the room
and silence sung a song in perfect pitch.
but there goes the clock - tick-tocking toward enlightmenment,
where you can smell the divine lust for perfection
inhaling cigarette-lit dreams. everything is as it seems.
i am the poem that pieces the peace together,
blowing the dust out of warm pockets
that once held cold bits of reality in the form of falsehoods from fortune cookies,
now - the frayed edges of love letters.

II.
and what is of this woman?
who looks like the sun when i close my eyes,
whose warmth has the potential for electric fire,
whose cardinal glow keeps me awake, awake,
daydreaming, fiening for a song
to be woven into my skin. how did this begin?
bright moon eyes, invincible, piercing and playful,
perfectly imperfect and personable.
she writes songs and i want to do more than just play along.

III.
and what is of the future?
which poet let go of san francisco?
who let the past slip into fables and fairytales without happy endings?
who can justify being unjust?
who decided it was cool to look in the mirror and not see lust?
i am in love with tomorrow as i am in love with music -
songs that tell stories, whether pregnant with metaphors of unborn children
or void of a voice, the melody of my heart.