It’s second nature,
To vibe with those alike,
Nervous notions nulled by hexing similarities,
And a smile like the North Star in dead night.
The music in her voice heard,
Over loud crowds and words-
Musical nomenclature propels and reverbs,
Off the chapel’s halls,
Enough red hair to contradict my self confidence’s fall,
A shaky burst of laughter to show I’m enthralled.
I’m tapping my foot on the carpet floor,
Arms crossed and head wrapped in rapport-
Forged from present fantasy and something more,
I decide then to not place my hands where I no longer want them anymore.
The corruption of her white righteousness by my black hands,
Debasing things grand-
Clocks just strike four.