Aiming Higher

I want the country roots in city suits.
Dancing lines and drinking wine.
The Sunday drive to grandma’s farm
to recover from Saturday’s dizzy lights.

Rods and reels, classy heels
pencils skirts, Magellan shirts…
a little dirt and grime, salt and lime.
A busy street, or a sunset scene.

I want a forever, a you and me
that’s a city chic as country can be.
A quick block’s walk to dinner
in a 50 acre lot’s diesel truck.

A coastal escape or dusty, dirt streets
camouflaged in the blues, the greens
like these strobes we sway beneath
syncopated to these club beats.

Southern comforts of the breeze
stroking, gently the tree’s leaves.
The hum of traffic calling me to sleep
but not ready to escape the crowd.

Growing tired of the busy shuffle,
to rest under watch of the stars,
dreaming safely in your arms
as the city siren’s hardly raise alarm.

I want the urban cowboy,
the best of both you see.
I want the grit, strength, the fight,
with sophistication, a touch of luxury.


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