Ark of the Lost Angels

Credit: “Loft is Loft” by Martins studio

Originally written on July 1st, 2023. Inspired by “Mona Lisa” by Dominic Fike.

Wall of windows cracked,
Your records accompanied by the city rhythm.
Iron-framed glass and warm red brick,
Remnants of when this was a warehouse.
Greenery that scents the air 
With the smell of spice for your cooking.
Honey colored wood floorboards,
But you cover them with those Persian rugs.

I love crashing with you,
Work doesn’t seem to matter these days,
Laptop open on an antique coffee table,
Only passing glances at our email.
We’re talking over coffee in crisp, white mugs,
Too high and far off the ground
For anyone to see we never finished getting dressed,
Enjoying cinnamon rolls you threw in the oven
Before we ran back to bed.

Somehow your bachelor pad is a love nest,
Aggressive masculinity tamed by your feminine touch.
Silk and steel,
You were a yin and yang before I even entered the picture.

Raw Edison bulbs at night cast a soft, golden glow.
Closest to heaven I’ll ever see,
Looking down at the constellations laid by the city,
Roadways splayed out like blood vessels,
Bedrooms lit up.
Lives we’ll never know.
Like they’ll never know ours.

Your loft became the center of my universe,
And you’re the black hole at the heart of it all.
But I’m nothing more than a guest, 
A permanent passer-by. 

Yet spending so much time here with you,
I forget I have my own place.
In tracing your skin half of every day,
Have I ever shone light on any of your shadows?