Christ of Kings Street

Bathe me in blue light

Christ of Kings Street

A ladies mantel clocks my mind past chorded and un-corded frameworks

Patchwork Overalls

Short cut to a best friends crush

She's been seen around ivory and minor with pent up tonics turning the tuning hot

I feel my heart each time you sing

Paintbrush split ends

Bend moulds of imperfection

Tip toe direct to tend to that bruise he left on your heart

I'll be the news

or better yet

Your new material

But this unreal fantasy leaves me as empty as the space between notes in that one song you sang on Sunday

Resonant, tense, feeling

Ultimately only echoes of the past that last long enough to leave me

Shaking

Turning thoughts into feelings

Having me wish to be peeling down my distance listening wall