Good Night Sweet Prince

Are we done for now
Or is this for good
Will there be something in time
With us there should

Only one for me is you
There can be no other one
If I didn't have faith
I would come undone

So much promise in your eyes
Seems that only I can see
It always makes me wonder
If you save it all for me

Maybe you do, maybe you don't
Maybe you should, Probably won't

Because there will always be...

There will be other girls
Who whisper in your ear
Say they'll take away
Your sadness and your fears

They may be kind and true
They may be good for you
But they'll never care for you
More than I do

I'll always be there
There to the end
I can't do much
But be your friend

To the end
Through the end
Our lives to spend
With each other to the end
Of time

Still see the promise in your eyes
And still wonder if it's for me
But I know it's still there
Even in your sleep

So I say, Good Night Sweet Prince

Angel

He come shome to me after a hard night's workin.
Falls in my arms and sleeps like a burden.
Startles, wakes up, like he don't know me.
Cocks back his fist like he's gonna slug me.
Like who are you anyway, and what are you doing to me?
He's an angel but he can't see it.
He's got wings he can't feel.
He's an angel but he can't see it.
But he's flying above me everyday.
Everyday of my life.
Bright diamond eyes with daggers beneath them.
He carries the chains of a million decisions.
That weren't even his to begin with anyway.
But he carries them anyway, he carries them all.
All the people around him
Never even notice that he's very very tired.

She

She was a cold beer on a scorching summer day.
She was a fast motorcycle.
A fine cigar.
The cool side of the pillow.
She was the sweet sweet ache in every bone in his body.

Tired....

I work at the Front Desk of a great hotel with a bar and a restaurant and I thik I can safely say...I can do this job from home. Lol. It is sooooo slow right now. No one checks in, no one checks out. No one needs anything. It's like all my bitching about having to work for a living came true and it blows. :) Not having anything to do is very boring and when I get bored, I get tired. Also, sleeping at home isn't an option cause I'm out of those little white pills that send me off to snooze land. Haven't slept an hour in three days now. Waiting for the bags under my eyes to appear. I'll probably crash and burn soon. Called the hospital. They ordered the pills ( stupid small town crappity crapness) so I'll have them in a week. I ordered twice as much and next month I'll make sure they order another couple bottles. The nurse told me I should try drinking a glass of warm milk. I told her to look at my file. I've been on these for three years and trust you me, I've tried everything from herbs to hypnotherapy. Pills work. Give them to me. Lol. Need to sleep so bad but everytime I lie down I just find myself staring at the shadows on the walls. So I spend my days hardly working and my nights on the net, watching t.v, playing x-box, and cleaning house. I'm driving my roomie crazy. Lol. But the apartments clean. Lol.
Again and Always, Later Days,
Loch

Love is....

It’s nice when grown people whisper to each other under the covers. Their ecstasy is more leaf-sigh than bray, and the body is the vehicle not the point. They reach, grown people, for something beyond, way beyond and way, way down underneath tissue. They are remembering while they whisper, the carnival dolls they won and the Baltimore boats they never sailed on. The pears they let hang on the limb because if they plucked them, they would be gone and who else would see that ripeness if they took it away for themselves what the flavor would be like? Breathing and murmuring under covers both of them have washed and hung out on the line, in a bed they chose together and kept together, never mind that one leg was propped on a 1916 dictionary and the mattress, curved like a preachers palm asking for witnesses in His name’s sake enclosed them each and every night and muffled their whispering old-time love. They are under the covers because they don’t have to look at themselves anymore. There is no stud’s eye, no chippie glance to undo them. They are inward toward the other, bound and joined by carnival dolls and steamers that sailed to ports they never saw. That is what is beneath their undercover whispers. But there is another part, not so secret. The part that touches fingers when one passes the cup and saucer to the other. The part that closes her neckline snap while waiting for the trolley and brushes lint from his Serge suit when they come out of the movie house into the sunlight. I envy them in their public love. I myself have only known it in secret, shared it in secret and longed, longed to show it—to be able to say out loud what they have no need to say at all: That I have loved only you, surrendered my whole self reckless to you and nobody else. That I want you to love me back and show it to me. That I love the way you hold me, how close you let me be to you. I like your fingers on and on, lifting, turning. I have watched for face for a long time now and missed your eyes when you were gone. Talking to you and hearing you answer—that’s the kick. But I can’t say that aloud. I can’t tell anyone that I have been waiting for this all my life and that being chosen to wait is the reason I can. If I were able I’d say it. Say make me, remake me. You are free to do it and I am free to let you because look, look where your hands are now.