It’s the simple things
like
sipping cold milk from a
Collins
or
knowing what a Collins
even is.

Like an open stage format
at a local bar
with
a man and his
5-string
and a man
and his 6-string
and two (count ’em two)
saxophones.

It’s
one more
cliche
free-verse
po-em
written
at the
end of
a long
, long
, day.

but mostly,
it’s
the cold milk
in a Collins

i want to ask you
if you’d like to light
a fire underneath
i am a match itching to
burn
i can promise you a blaze
this wildfire would
take its toll and
roll like a catalyst
through our arteries
and if your world is
too quiet just let me
know

oh my
shooting star
i sit
empty chested
these things
well i can’t stop
these things
sitting in a crowded room i am high as a balloon i want to be with you sitting in a crowded room
oh my
shooting star
i sit
empty chested
hoping