Dying, lying and you..
Dying, lying and you
Last house near the lake. Was our place to rest.
We were Gypsy hearts and Irish coffee mornings.
We would find the quiet lake rarely, for we loved the whiskey, deadly dances and the taste of the new kiss.
I told you often. I knew where to find you when needed. Find the wild sea and the dancing roses of the valley.
You would wrap your legs around me and whisper. “You belong to me, we love to weep, we love to bleed and we love to see the sun rise from the sea and the sun to fall into the sea. I love you more than sin, gin and new kisses. We always find each other when we are tire of the game. You and I, know the holy love. We don’t steal from each other. We show real face and we do not hide our scars and our disappointment.”
I brought her beautiful face near and I told her. You have been running from the ghosts and demons, looking for a safe place. You and I. Twice yearly, we find the lake. Always late Winter and the September ending. Age, pain and understanding make us come back where we can drink our Irish coffee, hold hands and know the feel of loving embrace. You know, I love your scars, I love your face and I love your sweet voice when you sing Leonard Cohen songs to me. Maybe, you will stay with me. Maybe we had enough of dying and lying? Maybe you can stay. I will paint your perfection face to words and songs. I will worship your scars and keep you safe my love.
Pretty Paloma wrapped legs and arms tighter around me and she whispered. “I am tire sweet poet and I wanted to hear your kind words. You are I. Our Gypsies spirits love the long highways, the Pacific and the Atlantic sea and to test the boundaries of living. I want the same. Our lake, the Irish coffee morning and the comfort of your arms. I will stay with you.”
The silence of the morning, left two people interlaced in a love embrace. Promises made to the rising sun.