When I saw you there in the rain. The red light from the drugstore sign draped over your shoulders. Your hair clinging to your cheeks and how the raindrops fell from your lips. And I thought about what you’d said before. That time in the car.
You went out and bought that fragrance. And I remember because the sun was about to call it a night. So it kissed you on the cheeks and I could see your breath as you let out a longing sigh. Your cheeks, left in a soft crimson afterglow.
Since then. I’ve been pondering whether or not I should cut out my tongue. Lest I say those words in the wrong order. The ones that can’t be taken back. The ones that stain the fabric of what we’ve woven. Though there are times I’m sure I was working this loom alone.
And so Andromeda waltzes onto the celestial stage in a dress of light and smoke. Wistfully twirling about a star speckled landscape as mysterious as she is mesmerizing. She leaves me with an enchanting sadness.
Exhausted fingers fall in thuds on the keyboard. Tired of raging against the might of apathy they trudge through a swamp of words. Scouring the sludge in hopes of finding just the right combination.
Before the echo of an empty whiskey bottle awakens the moon again. And the coyotes emerge from the tree lines to beg the moon for forgiveness. Could you tell me again? Could you tell me why? Just one more time.