The curls of you engross around
the nooks of my body, aching
for a moment of enticement
an enjoyable conversation over trivial things

Listen to the whispers in the caravan
eyes and stagnant Tic-Tac air on me
as I try to find comfort
in the bastion of beasts on a rampage

You try and talk into my ear,
with ill-fitting, prosey-poetry by
the great king Billy Collins
as if that would allow my spirit to
dance around the fact that when
home is in sight, my mind
shifts between reality to fiction

You blaze
in the very essence of my wild,
egotistical and self-centered fire

Enter into the vast shadows of
the never-nothing land where the walls
are still caked in the dream of you
fragments and grasps
thrown away for a half a single
mistaken achievement

These sentiments and drives coursing
aches to be awakened from
your spells and magic trifle
and my eyes want nothing to do with
dead-stricken zones

And as I continue
on these barren, rocky roads on the highway
I learn my path is my choosing
the smoke has cleared, dawn leading the way
on without the curls of you