An Old Flame in the Night

In the morning it is often winter,
though sometimes it is indeed still summer.
In the later nights as the moon climbs into the sky
to peer down at fools searching for stars,
I wonder if that means she is watching me.

So I threw a snowball at the moon,
but I threw it softly and it shattered on the ground.

Then I sent a smoke signal,
but she didn't catch the drift

So then I carried a bag with literally all of my feelings for her to her house
and there were better looking dudes than me,
and I assumed meant my dumb ass had been tricked



I returned to my hole to hide from the world,
One woman broke my heart,
Who would be interested in the shattered remains?

I forget that some women spend their whole lives cleaning up the messes of stupid young men.
I forget that often, they watch little boys age into morons,
and die old and alone with no one to argue with.



Hiding from the world will not cover up my own stupidity and shame
Shame rides my back like it has a saddle on it,
meaning I can only ever be looking down
and I'd love to be looking up for a change of pace.

I'd love a sun in the middle of the night.
But I guess that would just be a second moon.
My voice cracks, but my breath can carry a tune,

A not quite prayer, to a not quite goddess.
a dandelion in the wind, her daddy's wistful whistlin'

A mother's prayer with a wish within.


A flower so beautiful it haunted my dreams for a decade,
made me steal from gardens hoping to know the scent of spice and sugar
so I could have the words to tell her.
"Please, could I drink from your cup?
My throat is parched."