eatpoetry

song of the tone-deaf

i kept dreams of bridges built,
of skin tones crumbling like concrete walls.

i kept dreams of clasping love,
logic broken like a bulb in the throat.

i kept my windows down, turned music up,
looked through her eyes — to catch a soul.

but all that’s left is smoke and time.
and how much setback must one really stomach?

see, sometimes dream-spans must be trimmed,
and expectation’s best locked away.

and when that cold vent hums through your heart,
call me — so we can make it all a song.

© 2009 Constantine Kulakov