Saturday, March 6, 2010

out of reach.

New York girls have prettier smiles,
but some traded theirs for hearts of coal.
Maybe it's the way that all the miles
become in and of themselves a worthy goal.

Now there's an empty space in my queen-sized bed
on which you used to sleep.
I don't remember much about you now
(outside of the company you'd keep).

This is such a lonely place, this city:
no sky by which to find my means.
Up above the buildings, I'd be sitting pretty,
but then I'd only see you in my dreams.

Waking by your side is my reward,
and your midnight sigh my prize,
although I wonder if I'll be able to afford
all the warmth behind your eyes.

I can't stand the awkward pause
between your name and the applause
and we should have gone out to the beach
but now you're out of reach.

(although maybe if I could stay here tonight--
I promise not to make a sound--
just a place upon your hardwood floor
and a pillow on the ground.)

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