Because East Of My City...

Before I ask you for your heart,
Let me ask you for your forgiveness.
- I shouldn't of asked you to fly.
God is an audience,
So I can't have you to myself above the clouds.
When it comes to you I'm selfish.
And to him I'm nothing but ill company,
sent to plummet below the heavens,
because when he asked me to,
I had refused to make love to the Sun.
I'd rather birth my light with you.
And fill your heart with the florescence angels dance upon,
Because before I stole away from the sky,
my lips took a piece of heaven with them.
I'll tear the hues out of skies for you if you'd ask.
Because I know more than anything,
You'll hold me down;
and I never knew before you how to embrace gravity.
Saturn's rings belong on your finger.
I've learned to be Atlas,
the architect of my shoulder blades,
arched them perfectly,
to carry heavens up on my back.
So if God rejects us,
you could build your own atop of me.
Read me like sheet music,
Hold me close,
and dance to my song.
We'll let the lyrics write themselves.

So There's This Girl...

... that makes me feel like this.

Tired of You Being In The Dark

No metaphors.
Okay - maybe one or two.
These lines won't allude you.
I just think you should know
that these words won't be enough.
The only way I could tell you everything,
is by laying your head on my chest.
My percussion to your ears
To confess the very best of me.
Like I only smoke my cigarettes with the lighter you gave me.
Or that, the last twenty poems I wrote,
were because of you.
I went looking for you through all the love songs I know,
thinking you were hiding somewhere in the lyrics.
I googled our horoscope compatibility,
then thought for fifteen minutes that we could triumph the odds,
when it said "incompatible".
My closest friends all know your name.
I didn't know my hands could feel lonely,
so I write a lot more than I used to,
because that's what bought me closer to you in the first place.
I like that your all over my facebook page.
And you keep my arrogance in check with your own.
You tell me I could do much better than you.
But I think you and I could be that perfect poem,
the one I told you I wanted to write. To exist.
I just never knew that words wouldn't be enough for it.
But I think we are.
I'll be vulnerable for you.
Words aren't enough. But you are.
At least to me.

Manhattanhenge

Every year, twice a year, the Sunset aligns itself with the east-west grid of Manhattan for the event known as "Manhattanhenge".

Taken from Wikipedia because I can't describe it better;

"At sunset, a traveler along one of the north-south avenues on the West Side looking east can observe the phenomenon indirectly, being struck by the reflected light of the many windows which are aligned with the grid. An observer on the East Side can look west and see the Sun shining down a canyon-like street."

Streets. Light.
Street Lights.

The world's greatest love affair. Even the Sun can't resist Manhattans charm. I'm not sure how the city and Sun are content... satisfied... whatever you'd like to call it... with intertwining their fingers; holding hands, for fifteen minutes twice a year. The remaining 525,530, both behemoths tend to do their own thing. Exist in their own way. Stealing glances as the globe turns.

I don't know; maybe there's a lesson there we should all walk away with. "I'll make you the center of my world if you make me yours." We are all behemoths in our own way, of our own measure. We should recognize ourselves as great; and never need to be appreciated together in order to appreciate both. We should build ourselves up, and then find someone who we can architect a part of heaven with. Someone that, when your seen out walking on a mid-day in July, strangers'll think to themselves "Beautiful."