I’m dancing and driving alone along the writhing roads to find a home for the homeless sense of self I’ve created out of the tulip bin upon my mantle. It’s too reflective on the outside of the coffee tin that holds the pennies and dimes I started saving a couple of yesterdays ago in order to find a place where I could forget the smell of being alone.
I would build a house on the sandy parking lot drive in if you would hold my hand in the nook by the kitchen sink.
I would know the map of your eyes like the back of my hand and the way that your lips pursed when you thought too hard about something that is supposed to be thought of softly would be my favorite sight in the world. It would.
It would be a secret little tree house in the backyard of adulthood where we could hold tea cups full of chocolate and make believe that they would never find us.
I would never let them find you if you wanted to stay with me forever. Never.
The dark days would seem like cloudy skies instead of blackened nights so that I could look through the grey skies and see your eyes still, tapping the inside of my heart like an impatient little child. Kissing back and forth until one of us hung up the shell phone, all morning times would be a relief.
I would never hang up first.
I’ve been dancing and driving alone along the writhing roads to find a home for the homeless sense of self that I created out of the tulip bin upon my mantle. But, because of the way you kiss words that you throw out the window, I stand up instead of sitting and I live like tomorrow is always a second away.
I would like to stop being alone of you.
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