Rocking Horses and Porcelain Clowns
?
Can't we just lie in bed all day and stare at the ceiling with the glassed over eyes of last night? With our arms wrapped around each other and my face buried against your neck. You're a comfort to me, a child's security blanket, or the teddy bear I still sleep with. You're warm and you smell like home; like everything I've ever wanted. You remind me of what I dreamed of as a child, a princess in chains, a shredded dress with soil accents. The unexpected and the unforgiving.
Wouldn't it be great to go to rained out car shows on a brisk Sunday, when the wet grass sticks to our shoes and seeps through our socks? With my head against your shoulder as we point out cars we couldn't own even in our dreams. You would smile when I'd say something wrong, a year or a maker, but you wouldn't correct me, wouldn't put me down. You're a dream to me, something only my imagination could concoct. You're kind and sweet, and yet cruel and demented in the vanishing acts you pull. You remind me of my grandfather's old garage, filled with memories, far from my reach. Essential and unattainable.
Why don't we just fall in love, sitting in the window booth of some common restaurant? With my back to the crowd and your eyes daring them to come close. You're a guiding hand for me, shaping my mold and pouring my molten thoughts and emotions in. You're a novelty to me, something that I discovered as a toddler in a dusty attic among mildewed rocking horses and porcelain clowns; a child's picture book of nightmares. You remind me of the school day cartoons, twisted life in a maze of grown-up jokes, things I'll never understand. The frightening and the favorable.
Do you want these things too?
Wouldn't it be great to go to rained out car shows on a brisk Sunday, when the wet grass sticks to our shoes and seeps through our socks? With my head against your shoulder as we point out cars we couldn't own even in our dreams. You would smile when I'd say something wrong, a year or a maker, but you wouldn't correct me, wouldn't put me down. You're a dream to me, something only my imagination could concoct. You're kind and sweet, and yet cruel and demented in the vanishing acts you pull. You remind me of my grandfather's old garage, filled with memories, far from my reach. Essential and unattainable.
Why don't we just fall in love, sitting in the window booth of some common restaurant? With my back to the crowd and your eyes daring them to come close. You're a guiding hand for me, shaping my mold and pouring my molten thoughts and emotions in. You're a novelty to me, something that I discovered as a toddler in a dusty attic among mildewed rocking horses and porcelain clowns; a child's picture book of nightmares. You remind me of the school day cartoons, twisted life in a maze of grown-up jokes, things I'll never understand. The frightening and the favorable.
Do you want these things too?