I want to dance with Andy Warhol.
I want to see the world through your glasses.
All blurred and strange-
To know the ridges of your face and smudges that annoy you,
While your living daily life.
If I could sing a love song like Billie Holiday I'd lure you away to catch a beautiful moment.
Then artist's meals of cheese crackers wouldn't seem so sad.
Living off the happiness that the muse brings; I won't need anything else.
The soul can still dance as I sit firmly in my chair.
Dreaming little dreams, and sighing at which I wish to be.
I want to dance while smoking cloves in asbestos attics.
Remembering the quick kisses and uncomfortable silence.
It's all nourishment for this spirit,
As I glide towards the present tense.
Angels and demons both softly caresses and claw wildly on the tight rope wire.
Balance the weightless and extremely heavy.
Pointed toes dangle off of the mattress as I struggle to find the way.
I want to dance in your presence and hope you see the light.
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