Delilah

You laugh like Camus, but it’s not the heat, deserts don't frighten you, you’d say that fools, always miss the beat, when looking at ruins, you are like an almond, brown and seventeen, before the wind, will you blow away, like their leaves, nothing to harm your stay, just the yellow and grey, poverty of hurt dreams, poems on hot spring days, inside you hum a tune, turn your head at screams, ignore the blues, your spirit sunk deep.