West of the South East Side

Grey carpet and burgundy pillows,
strewn around without concern,
all of it inviting, invisible permission,
to crash into each other,
feet to head, head to feet.

Will you teach me to make a lemon meringue pie?
To make magic with an old 50’s sewing machine?
How to forget the way his sweater felt,
the tiny balled up threads still clinging to my hair?

My face burrowed into him,
wind blur stung tears,
bottle of red wine,
half buried in the sand,
hand in hand, hand in hand,
make the picture frame crack, stop, dismount.

Pull back the nylon shower curtain shame and
mismatched shapes, sighs,
you can’t see me if I keep turning, leaping, jumping.

Another five pills and my eyes begin to dilate,
the blackness take me over the west faerie bridge,
to the southside, girl, to the southside wind.

And you were there,
and you, and you,
all in this Alice in Oz and her seven horny dwarves,
weave it all in my veins, in the blood, in my soul,
these are the DREAMS that wake the dead.

And I lie back on pillows,
let my thoughts fall careless in a slip and slide
pattern,
the water spurting out between my legs,
across a green summer grass stain.

You help me to forget where the lines are drawn.

Magick (live) :: Ryan Adams

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