The beautiful anachronism that draws me to you
embittered by ennui as I am.
You’re always charging at walls, I don’t think I envied the blind until I met you.
You dress up tired trivia as gospel truth
preach to me threadbare sermons I memorized long before you.
I listen, rapt, and memorize the exact shape of your mouth,
the dusky glow of your eyes,
the mischief disguised as a deep knowledge you say you possess and are willing to share with me
– for a song, a kiss –
a hint of the hidden fire you see dancing just behind my seemingly fathomless pupils.