Soil

he wore the warmth of a familiar quiet a silence worn out by overuse and the raging tide a face etched in with lines of the disquiet of waiting and the relentless ticking of our time those pleadingly vacant eyes those don’t let them know about the posters on the ceiling and the dream catcher on the bedpost eyes you know the time we went dancing hip-to-hip and toe-to-toe under a street light hanging over quilted pattern souls I suppose it’s safe to hide and suffocate on the hope of wandering down the should’ve-taken road that road I see the start of but never where it goes but my life is not your walk-in closet, no place to stuff your unmentionables know my days are not on layaway and your touch is no deposit since nobody seems to know that we existed hand in hand, and nobody is aware because our insignificant others couldn’t understand regardless of what you may think if a patched and stained quiet is worth the energy to defend if the bridge we had built is fortified to stand but I will never be that boy that boy, who will shut his mouth and open the door like time and time again and then occasionally before I’m your reflection now too cracked to recognize to see, to meet, to wake up before the sun can rise and make my morning coffee before it’s too late for you to find me