If we could put it to music
it would be your fingers
on my fine tunes,
my lyrics
finding you
in chords that could not exist
before this night.
We choose staying in,
underneath a thick haze
of purple and green.
Your eyes try to match me;
our deepest rhythms
sinking,
flowing,
dancing
naturally. We slip back –
your tongue laced with black
magic –
and I,
knee deep in daydream,
wrapped up in
this dimension,
several chords playing,
all of them in key.
Gripping to the cadence,
dripping with luxury,
we summon our past lives
we consult the angels
of mercy
and forgive every sinner
who ever has sinned.
This is our music.
Saturday night flat –
my bottle of Jack,
your smoke gliding
down my deep
throat
Like clockwork
here we go.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 