We Were Architects

You always fancied the sledgehammer

and I was a dust addict with no air.

The four walls were sterile,

like your stare while the room

we confined ourselves in

shrank to fit your perception of perfection.

You were narrow minded,

my mathematics were always off

and I was tired of being inside,

so I drew up the schematics for trees,

so I could understand the root of our problems.

You couldn’t lift your hammer,

heavy like your panicking manner

with a laughter of lead

no room for a balloon between us.

I’m tired of sterile and no swinging,

we’re saxophones always reading

the rule book and shaking our flat lips,

trying to talk out with longer notes,

holding on and out for a beat to drop.

It’s here we stop breathing,

In-out receiving each other’s air.

The kaleidoscope is leaking in your chest,

we’re colliding now, it’s what we know best,

making love with a wrecking ball,

knowing we could take a fall

of forty stories, land in the rubble,

dust in our muzzles, to push

a breath to thermal dive on,

ready to rebuild all the levels

with all their floors,

because it’s our flaws

that make us want to go outside.

It’s you, me and the wall.

Let’s forget panicking about perfection

and become architects.

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