3.55am, September 7th, 2009.

A venue, a pale black light tries to pollute the effort of a spotlight beside the speaker,
The same spotlight that, behind a veil of wispy smoke,
Holds the silhouette of the one I’d call a lover.
Hung in a shallow blue, his profile standing above his guitar,
The music hasn’t started yet.
Two elbows on a chrome Bar, I stand in waiting.
His heard lyric rolling absently through my mind, mingling with the murmur of a crowd in apprehension.
I feel like tonight is all mine.
Whether he looks at me or not.
Directly across a post-warehouse he stands,
The evening air barely venturing in,
His shadow turns my way but the faceless always remain the same.


He’s waiting out by the church,
She’s searching for another name,
All the while knowing who she wants tonight,
But everywhere else holds the anticipation of a romanticizing technique.

Dreams those night,
Of making love to nothing,
But feeling more toward it than any thing
Writhing around and wanting more but finding no one there.