The Doors of Perception

In the breath of music
this memory lies:

A quarter cafe
south of Nantes
belle ville française
my heart left open in opium eyes

A face, white washed
rolling papers
She asked me to try
the voice on the radio replied

The time when age fell astray
we dye the days in purple haze
she tore a hole through my skin
a pool of rain poured in

From raspberry lips,
a psychedelic smile
I take the trip
where honey drips
The weight of my world
I place on her whole,
yellows and blues, in my mind, true
In this whim of evolution the angelfish swim

I wake in her yogic mist, in the morning
we walk to the market holding roses
I say goodbye to my sweetest tooth
absinthe left in my lungs

Beneath the billow, a pixie cries
I wake the sound, taste the sky
Again, I hope to see the shell
of her doll's eyes


Listening to The Doors and playing with Shawna's words from Midweek Melting and Monday Melting at Rosemary Mint. Adore.