Sometimes I can feel it,
yes I can..
I'm wrapped around you completely,
yes I am...
When you rode the rails to Toronto,
you'd left me to explore the open road,
mysteriously ill... feeling daily that
my back was against the wall.
You were to stay four weeks,
and we were only just begun, with that
cloud of uncertainty following close
on our heels. Snapping pictures
of a hurried future, blotting out our
only chance at being in the present.
On your return,
I wondered how it would work,
how it would look.. for you,
I had questions, questions, and more questions...
yet it seemed I had remained an open book.
My heart was a ***** in heat
and I was throwing myself
in to a kennel full of howling,
growling dogs, baring their teeth,
their *****'s becoming unsheathed..
and standing back to watch the fun, my ego
peering motionless as it met its defeat.
Was I aiming for another feather for my cap,
or was this something real.. to be cultivated,
to prize. To hold on to at all costs.
I looked in the mirror, the years staring back at me.
What to do with your youth, a quarter of a century younger.
Not knowing if I could keep up or even be enough for you.
Talk about not seeing the forest for the trees,
you up and landed in my lap, craving my attention,
looking for a body to keep your sheets warm,
someone beside you to ride out the frigid winter.
I had been content with the state of my being,
not Looking, as they say.. not in the market, a free agent so to speak.
To me you were just another somebody
that took up space, entitled though you were,
and I paid you no mind, except
to engage in small talk, about the weather,
or of how smart looking your skirt was
or how you liked my shirt.. and that you thought
it brought out the blue in my eyes.
You would hardly call it flirting,
though I found you yearning
for something you were beginning to believe
was a love only abiding in Fairy Tales, and not
in the style of the Brothers Grimm, mind you...
You were seemingly in need of a Prince,
not even seeing a Frog to be found.
This coast becomes so gloomy
when the fog sets in,
the clanging of the markers
in the open bay, attesting to the dangers
should your craft steer near.
Their ringing reminding you
of the Churches steeple bell
come every Sunday. Clang, clang, clang.
I imagine those people in their suits and dresses
filing up, their all pressed Sunday best hoping for a front pew,
while checking out their look in hand-held mirrors.
Not a hint of the ******..
no... nothing of the sort.
Not drawing back the arrow,
and letting loose just for sport.
A decade or more had passed
since I had been one in a couple,
I wasn't going in blind, nor
with a one eye open,
but oh, your skin,
it was so subtle and your eyes,
clear and refreshing, hiding no guile.
I threw up my arms and waved my hands about..
You smiled shyly, slyly.. you had come 'round even
though you lived way out on the other side of town.
My hands still up high I placed their palms
on each side of your face and kissing your forehead
I said.. "I have reached the shore."