Follow Mendelssohn
Down the stairs
out into the air
the heavy air, of the street.
Lose him and wonder
with your finger posed sexily on your lip
Caught in the glare
of those whose time is precious
and you don't even care.
Ah, there he is.
Found him again, will not
lose him now.
Make your way into a glass building
open and forbidding.
Louder it gets
and you inch closer to the source.
In the room is a boy
inebriated or worse at noon,
his laptop blaring out this tune,
while he hits on a tired beauty
a couple of years older.
She stops him not
for she wants him to cast her
in his next ad-film,
with her hand on his thigh,
she answers 'Yes'
to what he has not asked her.
The world passes by
with ladders and notes,
with scales and ropes,
with aches and hopes.
You retreat, for to invade
a public moment is wrong
and then you put your finger on it!
"Damn it! It was the Spring Song!"
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