Above the star ceiling
there is an attic which houses
secrets and undeclared love,
decades of wreaths and erections
who told Sinatra to stop singing?
In moon river dreams, my limbs drifted
from pillow to ache within the attic
A heavy breeze from the West
steals cargo from ships
lays anchor into groins,
not every skull and cross bones is a pirate
In the headlights of your eyes
Full window break, car smash
Damn the man who treats you as a passenger
When your heart is always on the brake
Dress as the verbs in a Morrissey love song
once for the vinyl, twice for radio static
button your shoulders to our necks
let our flesh just become one
Clever word play. I especially like the transition:
“In moon river dreams, my limbs drifted
from pillow to ache within the attic”
Excellent write.
Thank you Joe. Isn’t it beautiful how music connects the world? Were all looking at the same moon river
What a well done, strong write. Poetry is so broad, so I look for what moves me, and makes me nod, with approval.
This succeeds quite well.
Appreciate the continued support Styx. I just enjoy grappling with words and metaphors.
Cleverly penned, Ghosteen. Incredible write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thanks for the kind words Damian