The Eighties

Inches to dimes running out of time. Money, space, and a broken place are the only times I remember her face. Tonight I need your sweet caress and playing piano in the dark keep circulating through my sound cloud, and I just want to write poems to 80's music. Go back to a time before viruses inflicted knowledge on my innocence. I was about four feet high and my limitations were as high as the sky. My mind was never at ground level until the day she entered the elevator of my psyche and asked "up or down?" Speechless, I began fumbling, realizing there was more to us than boy's have es and girl's had more than pink cookies in a plastic bag being crushed by buildings. Her question sent me on a crusade. I wanted to be paid in full so I could afford her dime like intellect. She had me dreaming as if I was Billy Ocean. I began warring with self to prove God could really do the impossible and when I finally found the nerve to ask her for a dance, she was already holding someone else's hand. Damn! I always seem to have inches to dimes, now Babyface is singing, "It's no crime." Tough when you're sentenced for a misappropriation of time.