A crash inspired

Varicose veins are extending

they have a life of their own –

the moon Diana is blending

with our concept of time we have always known

while fragments of our lives are deceiving

the distinct plots we are weaving.

Act one is coming to an end

and the letter I never wrote nor will ever send

is altering every instant we are apart.

Oh, how sweet it would be to return to the start

the line that fades with acid rain

the lines on my forehead receding in pain.

You talk the talk but never show me

the action you decree

let me not look into your hypnotic eyes

one more time. I’ll try to rise

up out of this trance you mix

hold out your hand to mine to fix

the cracks on the sidewalk

the mangled thoughts I so want to talk

for only your ears to listen

and my heart to break or win

this agonizing race of spirits

that follow me to my wits

and stop before the end approaches

as if to say that love is dead, yet afire with yellow-flamed torches

leading to the path of uncertainty.

Along my neck your curious fingers travel to uncover me,

continue discovering all my entrances

and omit my exit from my rhymed sentences

remember, the skin will never stop this change,

we walk the same road in every age,

so maybe you would like to join me in this futile, self-absorbed love

or perhaps you would much rather observe the innocent whiteness of the dove?

I know I missed the sense of trust

you sang about with an abundance of lust

but believe me I see everything –

I especially adore it when you sing

of a moment that never was between us,

I promise I will not make a fuss

about the texture of the grass

or the unique shape of your ass

just keep on walking down that path

I’ll see you in grade 9 math

and we will start another book

of cities we never traveled and one unused hook

that marks our name with a hyphen

signed papers at an old Southern church way back when

we died at that car crash

our heads through the dash

and into the golden satin curtain

of this love so thick, yet thin.


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