Sweet Dreams |
I love watching them try to pound you night after night
Their clumsy explosions at three in the morning again at four
Those horn-dogs didn’t get the memo: you’re taken
Half-showered hair dripping bathrobe clutched in one hand the other scrolling on your phone in the miklat you couldn’t care less
Come back to bed with me, My Tel Aviv I know you best of all know how to please you hold you make you mine
In the soft parts of the city in your coffee shops, your dog parks
in an old friend’s smile jogging to the public shelter in a kindly Am Yisrael Chai from a stranger in the stairwell, waiting for the boom
In the flash of your eyes from a bunker under a hotel
Leave the unwanted attention outside groaning at your door let them burn themselves out
Lay down beside me on this unmade bed in the smell of smoke cold tea and yellow winter dust
Text your mother, you’re safe with me curl up, little spoon be my Tel Aviv forever