nightingales

We hold hands and they call us lovebirds,

But they are too colorful and noticeable,

Not nearly strong enough as your grip,

As your hands around my waist,

Keeping me from falling (but it's already too late.)

We met at Saint-Catherine's street,

By the old brick wall painted with words of hate.

You recognized me from the color of my tie,

And I by the color of your curls,

I guess we are too noticeable to the world.

I put roses in your hands, like I used to dream,

And when I got home I kept making dents in my skin,

Thinking back (it must of been a dream),

Because the way you smiled at me was too unreal,

The way you touched my cheek; the things you made me feel.

I felt like I finally found heaven, I swear,

We tripped right into love, a horrid affair,

I drowned in the giggles, the smiles, the stares,

It may be occult, a mere trick of the light,

But I think I heard nightingales sing in the dead of night.