Close We Were Meant To Be

Gods sat in bamboo chairs and made strange gestures, man is so afraid he lacks esteem, his mind is odd he longs yet cannot be a god. Man looks to the horizon's ridge but overlooks nearby, the bridge. He frets, so hands cease beckoning and chooses thus a reckoning, he whispers to his inner ear denies the coward's heavy fear protect and serve, he says aloud his breath gives life to a dark cloud and as he seeks the cooling shade ye gods pour down their lemonade. Small drops descend and kiss the cave no warrior could betray the brave, he sees the beauty of creation but hurries to the subway station. What was ordained will never be and she, the wife, stands like a tree she is not his, and soon is found a statue, frozen to the ground. And while her senses seek their trance the southern breezes come to dance, come drink ye bees and butterflies wipe salty tears from hopeful eyes, and pigeons living near the Lake take one small word for love's own sake. Like angel dust love graced my skin, united we will be in sin. For my drippy little swimmer girl.