Only the Best Cliches


I wrote prophetic anthems to our riots


Made metal wires of your woes untie


You might admire my words like gospel but


your eyes find the rhythm I'm just the scribe


I know the blue bruises of a dancer


and the choreography of your mind


I want the sweet mornings in your bedroom


The endless kiss of gentle lips at sunrise


Could you count the highway lights separating


The Paris of you the Brooklyn of me


We're boats without paddles dogs on a leash


Unstoppable forces hung up on debris


Distance works like a magician's cheap trick


I'm right here beside you just can't be seen


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