"We're not going far,"
Daddy promised
As he backed out from under the truck
Brushed off his jeans but not his shirt and
"Just seeing how the new brake pads work"
Well, I reckon we'll go far
If it turns out we can't stop
I plop down, don't buckle up
Just tuck my knees to my chest and
"I don't hear anything squeaking"
Forget the road and relish in the
"That's a good sign"
Scent of pine needles in his dark hair
And breeze in mine
And bugs in my eyes
"Are you cold?"
But let's keep the windows low
And my face to the sky
Because the moon looks lovely
On this midnight ride

mickey was made of
everything you'd never find
on a magazine page
like black pepper perfume
she called it her "pepperspray"
sometimes she wore an ocean scent, too
salty and spicy and
she shook the supermarket aisles
that way

we met
tiptoeing down our hallway
the one wallpapered with photographs of
faces we never knew
but would rather not forget
i smiled at you, you nodded at me
pick guards shone through
the quiet house
i let you lead
the way out

a guitar a piece
a dozen strings between us
except, nothing was between us
not then, not when
we wailed our darkest hours
away
like alley cats at first
slinking past the back door,
how it swelled through the seasons
how you pried it with that chisel
while i kept watch
because it was late
and mama loved to
tap her foot along, but she never did
understand the needs of musicians,
how
every blue moon or so,
the starless skies called us home
to serenade them
and how homemade melodies
were maps to our
hedonisms

how we couldn't sleep until we
clung to those mahogany curves and
lullabied ourselves into dreams and beyond
and how sometimes,
playing solo in our lamplit rooms
was like scratching an inch from the itch
for, we were weaved in the same womb
raised to unravel without eachother
surely mothers understand this

so we
swung our barefeet
off the concrete stoop
as cashmere moonlight
rode on wisps of fog
spread and swept across the yard
that seemed endless barely yesterday
where the treehouse crumbled
a decade prior
where the shingles on the barn
caved in for the final time
where our beloved dog
returned to dust
where our childhoods died
the songs don't
songs played before we breathed
in the atmosphere
songs that will play once we leave it,
as well
they must

til morning,
my fingers followed yours
reverse order of our
younger days
your harmonies ellicited chills
made my voice quiver through the indigo around us
and my subconscious
time capsule of lyrics
made for no fretting, nothing but serenity

sincerity
soared beneath the pines on the
back porch
one more whispered tune
too deep for two fools like us, but
i strummed like dad, you sang like him
then, it was time to sneak in
before the dew warped
the cheap wood of our old
instruments

and,
before dawn broke
mama was awake
ear pressed against the back door
took us by surprise
those stars dripping from
her hazel eyes
that lady loved to listen
there was a particular rhythm
which blossomed all along
a trinity of heartbeats
synchronised a moment
and that, will always be my favorite
song

She runs too fast
So mom doesn't like her
She jumps too much
So dad doesn't, either
Because freedom means
Muddy floors
And bath times mean
Another world war
But affection
Is really all she lives for
And dang, do I love her
Even if
Walking this dog is like
Riding a bull
(I want to hold on forever)