| The Sixth Floor Staring out my window Lights and brick, no stars Empty streets in a parallel maze Sweet perfume and warm skin Trapped in my soul A ghost fluttering in my heart The half empty optimist Missing parts of the puzzle Carving and trimming new pieces Trying to make them fit A band aid in of need of a transplant Friendly smiles touch my eyes Strong hugs pull me together Games of skill and words A cold beer and the puff of a cigarette Stave off the longing, fulfilling a need I would say they were my friends If I could get past fairy tales They understand perhaps because they know Maybe they make do as much as I try Or they have had a revelation They have healed and are willing to show their scars The deepest cuts never to be seen by all But to a select few, to one, to no one It does not matter We have found each other By choice or by chance Some share thoughts and dreams Others give hearts and bodies We support one another, tolerate our differences The disease of loneliness We have found a cure |