I arrive tonight, tangled from the waning side of nostalgia, seeking repentance and a handshake with weary arms that once carried no burden, but with breath that reeks solely of distilled bourbon which subdues the clean scent of last Tuesday.
With music on the breeze outside my window, an ancient part of me leaps to life - my hips sway, my fingers snap…my universe suddenly expands. And there, amidst the swirl of planets, stars, moons…rising...falling, there is you: the sign-less man.
Chocolate words come pouring from your lips, as I taste every letter and sentence, finding myself needing to indulge, but being rapidly reminded that our sweltering past has melted. My eyes are too swollen to squint, hope too battered to believe, face too inflated to display.
Hence, I am reluctant to believe in your moody eyes, diabolic nature, penchant for selling your soul to the highest bidder, and I say: You must be the one that got away…the one that escaped the pull of celestial seasons and ancient wisdom.
And so I arrive with hand outstretched, but I hesitate, recollect, and withdraw…dissolving my mind and heart, trimming your face from my memory to gaze at the stars instead.
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