tommorrow my heart will beg to me
on a ship for words to metamorphize into
brilliant colour, bursting in my ears
it will tell me that champagne
is the colour of eternal love
and roasted pig the food of lust
and who am i to argue
i simply sail here, once maybe twice a week
red wine leaking from my pockets
(that would be the bitter/sweet
sand of waking from lite sleep)
and when we docked
if we docked
i would tell you
it was all for 58 dollars and change
and the wet sunset on my semi-sweet chocolate shell

01/22/2004

Posted on 01/22/2004
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