The decadence of Ordinary

You do not cook, scoundrel
Then what is on the table
If not for this teas truth?
I see you, revealed like the tales you tell.
Drops of freedom, no seeming fascination
Might I look again?
The kindness of your blackened eyes
Mysteries these delights.
I am a lover
of those whose hearts beat beyond
The ordinary

I see you, revealed like the stories you tell.
If spokes, were unspoken
Could you handle this curious heart?

I would rather go swimming...
and ride a bike through the city
for it is autumn
and we have nowhere to fall.

We shall meet when you are less than bored

Painted poet, the suits are on the pool deck
Their misplaced grins
You smell good.
Is that Armani from 1958?
A decadent blend
The sun beams beyond this city's needle
Please sir, no spitting on the deck.