Sunday, April 12, 2015

No one Controls the weather

When i returned there was a man
In a light brown blazer, looking
For the boy he left next to my fountain,
one July, a few leaves down the roads
And i must confess that i looked too, for you

The shades are gone, the effeminante rants,
and the tuft of your cologne mixed with the sunset
There was a glare of jasmine
wafting with shisha
there was a woman sailing onto land

All is possible with a free imagination,
The indignation and departures
You have left the elements and made your own
Stroms for breakfast and fires for dinner
and calm, like land and water
Marrying, never intermixing

Maybe what you put on fits easier
than what you shed
Maybe i can explain the cigarette and justify the wine
But cant forogo, the weight of July's nights on my chest
Too much shedding doesn't heal new skin

too many men suffocate by words, like you,
tenderness is at the back of the hand
squeeze it dry, knead it
Maybe it will spare the generation of worry
The parades of soft skins

Must I see what you've become
Since I left you to be? Maybe cruel,
maybe vain. Maybe not merited for the change
No one controls the weather
But the words flow.

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