Looking Up.
Oh to sit and watch the sunset reflected in your eyes
as the moon and stars swirl with delight
Nothing seems better than this night
but for the end of today
I will be your cliche
as we settle like dust in this town.
But his ambitions returned
dissecting the winter of lucid insights
as a doubting painter before his death.
Slipping between fiction and reality
the heart is a twisting motion belieing itself, wringing itself.