Tell Me No More of Enchanted Days

Take me back, to where I knew you, to where we were, where we stayed, longing for an eternity in a one bedroom apartment, with words dancing every night, and the sounds of a mouth organ putting us to sleep. Let me forget about the red bearded goblin that threatened to take you away, let's go back, much before the circle began before the radius took shape, before the circumfrence made us dizzy from going round and round. Let me open the door once again, seeing a stranger I knew centuries ago, the step away from the stair, breaking my young heart into pieces, the first letter, the first kiss, the first dream, the smell of your skin as I breathe it in, I'll wear my butterfly silk dress, you can wear your cologne and let the pocket watch not remind you of how time is flying. Let me forget the fights, the breaking of glass as your hand comes down upon it in a rage, let me not watch you dissolve and fade away, not bear the pain of losing you again, or watch you walk away as you fail

Lightning never strikes in the same place, twice, thrice, and yet again, but lightning can follow you around, like the unknown explanation in a stranger's eyes; sitting at the bar, fiercely asking you if you want to, want to, take a chance; mess up your perfectly planned life that you're so afraid to analyse. Lightning always approaches before thunder, or so that's what you would think if you don't know your physics well. But if you did, you would excel at expecting them as part of the torrid deal the flash of surprise and fear, followed by the sinking of the harmony you so carefully laid across in your quiet humdrum meditative peace. Lightning is followed by rain, usually; so if you think that you can forget those eyes, beckoning and daring you, you could be wrong; rain is always messy, but it's also fertility for a dulled, disguised mind that's expected to be moral, sowing the seeds of commitment and posterity; look around again, the storm is here, the sounds