unfort'nately
my eyes are not the reflection of the grass on the ground
or the weed that you both love to smoke
but rather a mirror into the the above, the 'boding stormy night sky
or the noxious fumes that make you choke
i'm sorry i cant be your green eyed wonder.
sadly enough
i don't smell of soggy soil and wet logs, moist ground
or fresh earth cupped in your hands
but rather sweet and spicy, like my favorite incense shop, natural
or nostalgia of gone lands
i'm sorry i cant be your patchouli wonder.
unfort'nately
my hair isnt a gateway into the yellow wheatfields often driven by
or a long flowing wave of gold
but rather a callback to the unkempt woman of the woods, purposefully
or a web to get caught in, 'gain
i'm sorry i can't be your aryan wonder.
the thing is
im my own person again
[for a few brief moments]
perfectly happy with eyes of the storm
and smelling of Tabu and incense
and having dark dreadlocks
but then
i fall
and i need you again.