Why Don't You Stay

You open your mouth and music happens. Like talking became this melodic symphony of beats and rhythms. Like the wire running the length of the microphone stand became a judicial right. Every note, every beat, every hook. You caught me hook, line, and sinker. You had every right to, up there. Lights in your eyes and sweat beading down your face, And for a moment, I saw angels reflecting their flimsy wings in your pupils. And for even shorter a moment, I regretted ever letting you near a microphone in the first place. Regretted every song I heard you sing to a room full of people that wasn't me. It's so easy to hear the flow of water from your teeth, when it's shaped like a 4/4 chord. I wish it was always that easy to hear you sing. But sometimes you remind me of when I was little, and I used to dance around the living room standing on my fathers toes. Quite the obstacle, your lyrics have become to me. A bit too hard to hear, a bit too hard to ignore. I'm older than I was then. But your songs have stayed the same. Why don't I stay? Why don't you sing some more. Maybe I will.