A compact disc in a 5" x 5" gatefold sleeve. A physical object with all the beautiful properties and limitations thereof.
Includes unlimited streaming of Fertile Crescent Blues
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There is warmth in the fire
but not enough to keep us warm
and the shriveled ground needs tilling
but some days I just get bored
and you sit under the date palm
and you mend my clothes
and there's a longing in your eyes, I think,
but what do I know?
It's you and I,
it's you and I,
its you and I,
it's you and I:
from the morning
to the evening
to the black, black night,
it's "you" and it's "I".
The rain comes in fits and starts
and the thorns push through the ground;
try to make up songs to soothe
our howling memories by the sound.
And I know I shouldn't blame you
but I blame you anyway,
and the air between us stretches tight
with things we never say.
It's you and I, etc.
Last night I had the same dream
as every night before:
we were lying under pomegranates
misty-wet and warm
when our old friend cried out to us
in a language I didn't know;
then the vision tore in two
and then I violently awoke
and saw you breathing softly on the mat
of intersecting reeds,
long hair across your features
all inscrutable with sleep,
and the cave mouth sucked the cold air in
and it filled our little home,
and i hugged myself and trembled
and was utterly alone.