like someone late to her own legend—
hair flowing, heart glowing...
I’m only here for the poetry,
not for how gorgeous she is,
not for the way she smiles...
not for the way her voice rumbles
like it’s trying to escape
not for the way her voice rumbles
like it’s trying to escape
a punk rock show...
in another life,
one with even hotter summers
in another life,
one with even hotter summers
and fewer doubts,
we are probably a reckless fire,
kissing behind bookstores,
burning through sheets and centuries.
we are probably a reckless fire,
kissing behind bookstores,
burning through sheets and centuries.
we'd probably laugh too loud
and break things,
but here, tonight,
she's just a fine gone friend
at her first reading,
radiant as a mistake I’d make again,
she's just a fine gone friend
at her first reading,
radiant as a mistake I’d make again,
and again and again...
she doesn't notice my love,
she doesn't notice my love,
or does she?