The Not Quite Bilocational Blues

[evilbeej]

Stretched across the country in an endless dreamy haze,
the road to San Francisco makes me wander in a daze
because I'm crazy for the promise of those California rays,
and the only thing that stops me is the prospect of your gaze
finding something so right in me that your heart is set ablaze.
Before you started coming by to thrill me with your praise,
I could have taken 80 to my city by the bay.

Daytime sunlit beaches, warm San Francisco nights,
flowers in the winter, and the sky graced by my kite;
the brilliant hues of sunset touching everything in sight,
lovely laid-back neighbors and Tamalpais' giddy height--
I dream about them night and day and want to make the flight,
but one thing gives me pause, and God, I swear it sounds so trite:
the idea you could love me makes my head feel goddamn light.

I try to think of trollies and the San Francisco Treat,
of Golden Gates and blues at dawn and sandals on my feet,
of groove days in Mill Valley and a dance to my own beat,
and exercise and hummus and the February heat.
Then all these things just scatter as I see you leave your seat;
decorum flees my motions and I must admit defeat.
Oh I could leave, but damn you, you're spectacularly sweet.