Love is a Metaphor
Headlights are guitar strings stretched across the night plucked from a tenth story window.
Tears from blue eyes are marbles as they hit a wood floor; they cannot open a slammed door.
Peoples are shadows sipping from the tainted dreams like transparent springs,
and the moon sees all.
Street lights are melted time pooling around a vacant city street.
Subways are storm clouds which tremor in the future, ignored from the heaven of sidewalks and boardwalks.
Turnstiles are arms refusing to embrace, twisting like drunken carousels refusing forgiveness.
Eyes are icicles and dreams melted in cliff-side summer heat pouring into the ocean.
Dreams are lovers who have failed in reality, tossing passions against destiny’s brick walls.
Brick walls are lies towering above streets crowded with guitar strings humming marbles to sleep.
