I play these silly games in which
Everything that I dream about comes true
And I stand while the whole room transforms and
Scenes hologram onto once walls
And we’ve settled onto a nice plot of land somewhere
In the secluded Florentine mountainside
You’re off in your studio, covered in colors
Gracing some easel with a fleeting idea and
I’m tending the vineyard with old songs in my head
The wind breezes through and scatters my hair
But you always thought it was rather cute
When my hairline showed through
Saying I looked more like a man this way
You’re a fulltime artist and Italy’s finest
And we’ve made a great living for ourselves
You walk barefoot down to the market
And indulge in the freshness of your eggplant desires
When you come back you’ll find me at the piano stool
Playing the latest song I wrote, score scattered around my feet
It’s a working title, but I’m sure it will follow the lines of
“Perfect”, or maybe, “The Way She Speaks”
Either way, the song will speak of my love for you
Of our perfect life absent from the world
And here in my empty room
Of my miserable life absent from you.

03/25/2009

Posted on 03/25/2009
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