Fading Into Echoes

some punk rock band on the radio plays transparently hopeful echoes of some quick romance while she lounges on the couch in a see-thru dress smoking expensive french cigarettes her dreadlocks spread round in the morning sunlight but her sunglasses out of context in the small room she is the definitive architecture of sexy cool tapping a painted finger nail on the wood in time with the tune her lips mirror the the lyrics perfectly its a weeping time tale to hear her past out from the start of her humble jungle of a childhood to her trips along the nile river photographed so well she's an open book translated from street etiquette to manicured lawns of the greasy richy riches and back again the room holds many scents roses from her bedspread stale leaves burning from those parisian cigarettes and her delicate and elusive perfume that my mind wraps itself up in with such intense images of my lips grazing the nape of her neck i walk across the uneven floor of the small room and land myself slowly up against her warm body we talk softly the hour drifts by like moats of dust falling in the still air disappears like the punk song fading into echoes