Sunday, August 14, 2005
The white room
I want a room
that I cannot see.
All white.
No polka dots
no red wine
no ocean theme.
For I cannot be your ocean.
Constantly returning
to pick up your discarded tears
and wash away
your cliffs.
To tuck myself away
in the whiteness
hearing only the chimes
of a distant glockenspiel
That is my non-existent
wish.
And it whispers to me
like the antarctic ocean
in which I put my feet.
that I cannot see.
All white.
No polka dots
no red wine
no ocean theme.
For I cannot be your ocean.
Constantly returning
to pick up your discarded tears
and wash away
your cliffs.
To tuck myself away
in the whiteness
hearing only the chimes
of a distant glockenspiel
That is my non-existent
wish.
And it whispers to me
like the antarctic ocean
in which I put my feet.
