The Way She Nods Her Head To Cat Stevens

The way she nods her head to Cat Stevens is
the way the world turns,
the way the sun rises in the east and
the way the early birds sing
a hymn of love to a congregation of us,
watcherbyers, or perhaps, just me.
Comic markers fly and soar, hovering over
Bristol boards as the morning has broken
into three frames per page, her age
three frames from mine, I find,
it is just a different amount of time.
It is a wild world in which you and I have twirled
into a waltz of wondrous new,
we’re wandering in a waltz of wondrous new.
I take one step and slide towards you
you take one step and break your shoe,
as an orchestra rises up in a room full of
spirits here and now and then, yet again.
And again she nods her head to Cat Stevens,
as her liquid eyes melt onto the Bristol board page as a place to start.
She’s dressed in red roses and from toes to her nose her sweet skin softly flows
and away, and away, and away my heart goes.
Mind you, she sits so close so it goes not far,
I rub her long legs in black leggings,
internally begging for her eyes to look up and meet mine, I find,
it is just a decrement matter of time.
She tilts forward her head as she closes her glossy, hazel eyes,
as Cat Stevens sings “Trouble” my heart sings inside.
It is the way she nods her head to Cat Stevens
that I just cannot even begin to describe.


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