There he was, whispering the goddamn song
underneath the grayest roof; the raindrops;
while his only friend was the pick
dancing on the broken strings.
On the opposite side of his voice were
the fakest smiles and a bunch of wannabes
marching on the reddish carpets
lying in curls on the wet soil.
A few blocks down the road was
his lover, cursing the swindlers;
begging for loonies to sum up her whiskey sips,
and refreshing her memories of the lavender fields.
He is on my mind while watching the pacific from up high.
She too is on my mind while sitting
in silver lights, surrounded by the black bows
and hydrangeas; the white and the lilac ones.
What a tiny world!
Him, her and I
are all playing;
playing hard at life;