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Beauty in the Deep
Let’s go out walking together
Beauty in the Deep
On our long walk alongside the frozen river, dear Asha, your grip is fierce.
Somewhere in my heart an angel strums a chord, and my lungs find the music to breathe, despite the pollution coming from the nearby sewer.
The world seems shy at accepting my hearty jest, that I make in good faith, instead leaning more toward a sort of medieval charm akin to torture.
One of life’s small joys is chewing straw on a summer day. But those months are far off, beyond the current mind of creation.
I remember last night at the bar you exchanged glances with another man and now my goal is to secure your affection for me.
On the contrary you say, my only goal is to achieve your warm wet kisses on a cold night.
My reaction to that sally is to swear under breath.
I know this neighborhood is ethnic in quality and it is sometimes difficult to translate the words I hear into something that I can understand.
Every time I hear someone get into a confrontation or some kind of struggle, I more or less cringe, but it doesn’t decrease my interest in the proceedings.
