Airs mixtes

He could never help but secretly be
A hopeless romantic,
(Just in the way that crickets cannot help but chirp
On a summer night.)
Early mornings
Selling his soul to pen and ink,
Paper and heart,
The coming day seeming irrelevant to all that he knew.
Late nights
Wearing down the experience of his fingers
Songs at the ocean,
Sand everywhere — where does it stop
And fade into the gentle plucking of his guitar?
Detrimental smoke
(Continue strumming)
Stop and listen
(You can't hear a thing.)

He can't help but fall in love
Through the sound of Queen playing gently on the speakers,
Or some forgotten song conceived by the Arctic Monkeys
That has been written by everyone who has ever listened to it
(Alone)
In his room
Accompanied by his thoughts and his words
And the steady ticking of a clock —
(A beautiful girl will make him smile
For the same reason a beautiful boy
Will make him heavy-hearted.)

There are times, he admits,
Where he feels he is in love with every girl who has ever smiled at him,
If not only because of whatever song
That is murmuring on the radio,
Oblivious to the fact that he is truly in love with
A dark and romantic tune
(Spun by Morrison's poetry,
Or Hendrix's guitar)
Or some other beautiful, forbidden thing
That was created by another's love. 

When he speaks of romance,
He is not speaking of the business of love,
More so the Gothic aesthetic of a typewriter by candlelight,
Or the soft din of cursive letters
On cream-colored paper.
He is speaking of love songs peppered with French
The Beatles on a cold February evening —
(Sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble
Tres bien ensemble)
Drinking something hot from a red mug
As the 1960s and '70s call gently from a record.
Unknown jazz lilting from somewhere
As snow chuckles beneath people's feet;
(Time moves slowly through days that move fast.)

If he ever speaks to you of romance,
It will be because of some song he had forgotten about,
Or a remembered girl that smiled at him
Or a certain trickling of piano keys he happened to play.
When the world seems romantic to him
It's most likely because he is viewing the world
From behind a familiar guitar,
(Turtleneck sweaters and hot coffee)
Mixed with some tune he has written.

But maybe
If you listen
And if you spare him a smile
Or a kind word that could only come from you,
You will find yourself secretly tucked in
To a poem
Or a tune
Written by every song he has ever fallen in love with... kidscamera 283.jpg