happier now.

i find myself waiting for the perfect moment.
waiting for one perfect moment after another.

i don't feel for myself anymore.
instead, it's other people's poetry that influences my most intimate thoughts.
and every song on the radio contributes something.
not every word, and not every note.
but every constant hum from harmonic lips speaks volumes to me.
the steady, unassuming, and virtually unnoticed notes that exist only in contentment,
and at the same time, total melodic bliss--high-pitched and free.
soaring and smoldering, simultaneously.
sexy and sad.

"she is smiling and said 'come on'."

an invitation to be vulnerable,
but an obligation to her hardened heart.

a love song.

"and like falling stars, back down to sleep we'll go

to our waiting arms and orbits round the globe.
coverlets and down will catch you when you fall. . ."

one year ago,
i reveled in its misery.
the bittersweet love song that echoed the mild aching in my chest and the tumbling torrent contained in the storm clouds just above my head.
i remember the sentiment perfectly.
i can taste the salt of that very moment.

tonight, its the same song, the same season. the same strained voice.
but now i sense something else.
this time there is longing, desire, and lonliness under his words.

"baby, that's not all."

I wonder. I wonder how this might be different
if i could get you to look at me with your perfect eyes,
to speak to me with your perfect voice.
for you to walk away from me.
for you to let me fall.

"baby, that's not all."