There’s a holy war in Poznan,
a witness knocking weekly at my door
and a bunch of Baptists singing daily in the old market,
while I besiege your shadow
with unforgiving and unforgivable
revolutions of the heart.
Every pretty girl resembles you
and a made up blonde waiting in a bar
has just kissed her prince charming.
Even my dark beer reminds me of you
with your dark hair.
The blonde’s prince has left for a beer
and now she toys seriously with her phone,
while an old couple glances amused at me,
commenting on me, just as you and I
commented on people on our date.
What an oddity, coming to a bar
to think of you,
when I could do it lying on my bed.
It’s so strange to want you so
when I could’ve never met you,
to think of you
when there are so many girls
who resemble you.
At last a pretty girl who isn’t like you,
a blonde with a pointy nose, a slim belle,
and maybe I could kiss her instead of you,
but I’m just a weird guy writing in a bar
and she’s too busy having fun,
and you’re somewhere else and I miss something,
and nothing else matters, with or without you,
until I get home and deal with reality
and I still think of you, but in there
nothing resembles you.
by Juan M.S
