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.
