woke up during the night
one of those cool spring rains
drumming softly against the world
thunder echoing forever
across the clearest starry sky i'd ever seen
bright full moon hung in the distance
the old man himself smiling down
so that watery shadows paint themselves on our sheets
and somewhere, theres something else, something more rhythmic
you're not there
but the a fresh pack of lucky strikes are
theres a james dean zippo shining in the moonlight
near the cigarettes
smiling at me
i'm nude...must be why
or maybe he's hitting on me with this body
push myself off the starchy gray sheets
skin tingling as they caress me
i'm trying to get a better grasp of this faint rhythmic thing
i stumble up and instinctively my hand goes for
the smokes
and james dean's smile
together, james and i wonder out of this moonlit haven
through this little cabin
the smell of sawdust like it'd just been built hanging in the air
something tells me this is our place, but you're not here
i'm curious about this new place
somewhat well decorated
open, but homey
my ears perk realizing that somewhere, someone is playing music
the crisp plastic of the cigarettes crinkles in the background of rain
tap one of these little babies out
observing the way mr. dean holds his
forefinger out straight
thumb up, gun shaped
like when you were a child and played games that
involved guns
though you had none
so you used your hand
wonder why he smoked like that
the lighter is an eerie contrast with the cool darkness of the house
inhaling, i follow the light tune that comes from our front deck
i wonder when we got a front deck
make it to the door and push it open easily
unthinking of the fact that i'm still in the buff
only drawn by the tune i now recognize
it matters not
step onto the damp wood of a covered wrap-around deck
wondering how i know it wraps around
dave matthews
on the front deck
playing
he mumbles sweet nothings to a beaten acoustic guitar
i'm greeted and handed a low-grade beer and motioned to sit and stay awhile
i sit and smoke and drink
unashamed of my nudity and unchastized for it
the song whispers sweetly to the moon
the rain playing uneven back-up
and my cigarette burns down to the filter
as quietly as i have come i exit back into the house
don't question the obsurdity of it all as i slide back under the covers
still wondering where you are
heavy sleep drags at me and i drift off to the sound of a cool spring rain
only to wake up from my dream with you in my arms
smiling quietly in your dreams
and think that you're listening to Vivaldi
dressed in the attire of King Louis's court
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Email: easton_6@hotmail.com
