My Perfect Place

I don't know if many people have a specific perfect place, but I have an Idea. I just want to have a little house in nature, where I can write, love and be at peace.

Maybe it’s the way I can hear the meadows grass whistling in the wind

The plethora of colors that drops in seasons leaves

I never knew time to stop in the essence of beauty

My skin has imprints due to weaving patterns of the hammock

Slightly heated by past suns rays

The moon mirrors to see cheesy reflection in waking ripples

It seems unreal

A mirage to be nothing more than a copy of the river of Styx

The embodiment of many bodies performing the dead mans float down the lazy river

Some nights I sit in translation

Conversing with my spirit

That has a way of coming out whenever thoughts get to heavy

Turning my inner peace into nostalgia of once kissed lips

So for tonight let me love the upper half of you

Under oak tree

Where my hands travel from the base of the trunk

Through the aged roots to make way to your hair roots

Stroking your black curls

And for the moment we are sharing your DNA

Lay your head on my shoulder

Interlock fingertips

Like the zipper on your winter coat

On the coldest evening of the year

Maybe this is where God sent Mary to see her son Je-sues

And Je-sues brought Mary to make love too, outside the eyes of judgment

I pluck a single eyelash and place it on top of a dandelion

Wishing away our fear of pushing up daisies

Now we can truly have an infinite amount of lazy Sundays

And some days when we are here we can get glimpse of what it feels like to be immortal

Maybe it’s the way I can hear the moon whispering in her ear

Letting the atmosphere create an orchestrated ensemble

Crickets chirping the tunes of urban violins

Her stroking my heartstrings like a cello

The twiddling of thumbs sounds like snaps

Of old school beat nick poetry venues and 60’s music groups on the corner of Detroit

And the way the wind consummates with the lakes mist it reverberates melodies of Esperanza Spalding

This place is majestic

With thoughts of it being the vision of perfection

The rain amplifies it to a new peak

Which gives us the idea that our happiness has a never-ending pinnacle to be reached

Here, slow drizzles and cloudbursts

Smells like the notes we passed to each other

Asking if we could “meet at lake”

Touching up the finished production with sprits of colognes and perfumes

So we can remember each other scent

This place is a heaven descendent

Maybe a time to finally ascend ascension

Where strengths overlook imperfections

And acceptance is found in every crevice

All we have to do is relax because here that’s all God wants in a form of pension

To ship off this message in a bottle

Riding the waves, inviting the misfit masses to a new haven

Extracting a thousand and one feathers from the backs of angels

So they can finally reach their cloud nine

Letting the definition of perfection to be this sanctum in our eyes.