Sorigacious

There you were, in a chipped and passenger-worn bus staring into the hooves of God’s horses. I had you, I swear that for a moment’s time you were here holding my hands real tight and getting me ready for this trip but instead you  had turned and kissed john, long and lush. I could have stolen you, replicated you in so many way that there would have been no extent of time that could have brought about a breaking. Your bus rushed forward and that instant I would have shared with you was severed by distance. I went threw the steel and copper nerve just so that i could say that i chased you, and every time, I changed I shed a portion of something I knew I was and that skin gave chase too. The little courage I had reached the bus and went right threw the ceiling just to touch you. The passion just kept running and running and my patience hung from your window and just admired. Indecision stayed in the bus with me and begged that we would stop at a red light.

You were worn, tired and gorgeous. A man broke bones and your wings could bring you no elevation. I held you up, no use in that, I just needed to see you.I wanted to be as awake as possible, I wanted to bear witness to you.There were four stories we told each other, one in every turn and two a piece. You were covered in death, and the side walks ran red. Our last story ended with you hugging me tight and warming me. You were dying and I was the one crying. I slipped out of myself, the trees consumed you and ran lush. It became spring in the middle of my winter and there as nothing left for me to do.

I love the way the wind feels when your home. I love hearing those needles twirl and listening to the rusty chains on that swing set creak as you move in it. You tuned all of my guitars differently so that you could hear your voice while you sung your morning shower tunes and I wasted my mornings away on a decade old instrument. There was passion and conditioned love in the hands that went through my hair on Friday evenings when I was far to drunk to keep my self up. I knew you weren’t all there April, I didn’t mind because all of the songs I played March and May just kept you fresh in my mind.

I remembered your infidelities. I’m now grateful for the short reprieve of forgetting. Like a pair of well-worn shoes you know will callous your feet I’m glad to have shared your story, it was like a crucifixion: riddled with pain and salvation.  

I think I met you in scars but I know for sure I carry you as such. There wasn’t a war fought or a battle won by either of us. You moved and I moved with you. I spoke and you made small, soft concessions of mind and love. I’m looking for you all over again but maybe you are lost in light and transit and silence. Know that I am looking. 

I find myself in a state of utter unhealth

like the ice cream over a warm brownie or slice of pie she had me melting