To the woman with the moon in her eyes.
To every possibility of a lover enchanted by my words.
To the walled garden, and to temporary friends.
And to the desk within earshot of buses.It made me think I was in motion when I was not.
Perhaps it is why I stayed so long.
Too long.
I drove home with the sun at its highest,
I drove home with the sun at its highest,
with the windows open and my guitar on the back seat.
The wind ran its fingers across my face
less tenderly than the girl had done
when she’d lain in my arms for the last time that morning.
It had been such a lovely evening, such a perfect night.
It has gone forever.
She did not cry.
She did not cry.
She still believes.
Yet it is over.
And now,
And now,
I cannot decide if this is the beginning of an end,
or the end of a beginning.
At the moment it feels like freedom.
I am home.
At the moment it feels like freedom.
I am home.
With the one who knows me best.
She will dance me to the end of love.
She will dance me to the end of love.
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