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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=575068" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>That Illusion</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=575068" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The night weeps its sentiment to us all, but oh how<br>Many lines have begun like that: <br>And I wish I could be more original for you; <br>And now I want to walk to your house again: <br>I want to be a flag on your body rippling and casting for gold, <br>Because now haven’t I seen you captivated high up in the clouds<br>In a house of giants: <br>Isn’t it a white man’s house: even further, isn’t it my house, <br>Alma: <br>I want to find you and stretch you out and ask your where your beautiful<br>Belt has gone, <br>And to which knight you gave it to, to save his neck: <br>I know you gave it to one knight on his lunch break, but to which<br>One I am uncertain, <br>But I want to be your king just so I can have the authority to find these<br>Things out, <br>And to feed my life-giving poultry to your children: <br>Alma, I dream of you walking your children to the bus stop, <br>And I dream of you walking through cut out snowflakes and paper airplanes: <br>I dream of you always on the move, Alma, because your body gives off<br>That illusion while it smokes and sweats my dreams.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Bret+R.+Crabrooke">Bret R. Crabrooke</a></strong></div>