At a Starbucks in Madrid

The beauty of you bathes every inch of my tongue
It keeps me from growing old, growing closed
It keeps me forever open and young
It’s more than anyone has ever supposed
This nature of your celestial savor
This memory given to me as a blessing from my savior

My nature is that of some kind of prophet wretch
Mixed with that of some kind of lovelorn letch
The Almighty has locked these together inside me
And he made you the key

Normally assigned to the activities of rabid bolsheviks
But this kind of insanity can run rampant through any given family
Therefore you won’t even talk to me
Not even out of morbid curiosity
Not even to get rid of an offensive monstrosity
Because everybody is running around doing their political tricks
Breaking everyone’s bones with stones and sticks

Some of the mean things I have said about you and yours
Have been inspired by rhapsodies of Johnny Walker and Coors
Where I fall prey to a certain kind of fear
Fear is that thing that too many of us hold dear

I have to convince the police and the Mossad
That I am not coming to your land to stalk some girl
Rather I have to go there to do something unique for God
But poetry coats everything with an opaque swirl

This doesn’t mean that you won’t always be my muse
As I cruise through the land, singing the blues
Looking for some other rhyme or line to use
If I never meet you, never speak to you, there will be no other lover
Not for a minute, not for a second, no other
I’ve told you this before, when I was asking you to set me free
But after I said it, my inbox remained empty
So I guess that’s the way it will be

The things I said on your birthday about your heart
I know they were true
That what goes on in your mind is the most divine form of art
This is why the Almighty sent me to cross paths with you

The Devil once told me, in Scottsdale
That I would eventually succumb to time
I took this as some kind of prognosis that I would fail
So I refuse to even give the idea rhythm or rhyme

That is why I can’t let go of this memory
No matter what it does to me
And because of all this, two years later, I am heading to Galilee
Where old wise men talk of a tree
That I know will one day bind us talking happily
I just hope before we have entered the realm heavenly

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