Gethsemene

Reverie

He isn't a Don Juan or Romeo In the usual kind of a way But his eyes they beckon me come to him And his arms they beckon me stay And though I'm alone In the dark of the night And he's somewhere else far across town I remember his smile And the scent of his hair Oh I'm longing to pull him down But I am not his To have and to hold And I crumble inside when I think That his is not the bed I'll warm Nor his the wine I'll drink And I know I should cast away Thoughts of seduction Yet each dream I see him again And if small consolation I tell myself "some day" I'll ask myself which some day? When? And his music It never does quite die away It only plays soft and plays low God If I can't find solace Within this man's arms Tell me How do I Where do I go?