This is the place

This is the place

I want to be

Your head on my shoulder

I see it now

I feel its warmth

Against my cheek.

Ten million souls

Wander close by

That could be a lie

Nothing could be further

From my thoughts

Than the world outside.

A window

Is a divider of opinions

I have many

None would matter

Should the truth be

That you are here.

Nothing matters in the menagerie

The actors

The prowlers and growlers

Prancing and preening

Gathering themselves

Declaring themselves as

Prime.

Kings and presidents

Grandees and dissidents

Changing the rules

As often as their underpants.

Taking their places

As if the best of them

Can alter a blessed thing

About death.

Loss is as final an act

As any

Pity the small-minded

Egoist

Toiling

Self-aggrandizing

When at the point of delivery

They lie alone.

Just as empty and forlorn

As the poor boy

They have trodden down

Climbed over

Put upon

In the greedy grapple

For a power not worth

The weight of its demand.

Better by far

To smell the top of your head

The tickle of soft hair

On my skin.

The brush of my lips

On yours

The sweetest of dreams

The best of days.