He sat idly on the right side,
the smoking section,
the back booth.
The exhaustion of a lost adolescence,
baking into his dark skin.
Weary blue eyes,
the borrowed light reflecting from them,
oh, those eyes.
She was draped in crinkled up lace,
too much skin to trying to hide,
her volunteer insecure shake of a soul.
Her hands shook from the adrenaline,
or the drugs.
She wore dark-circled rings,
giving her a masked superhero guise,
straight from the shadows.
They were not supposed to meet,
it was not what the fates provide,
not that kind of magic.
He caught her wavering conversation,
took out a needle and thread,
weaving their words into one.
They became a giant quilt of blue and black,
their eyes casting the gossamer net,
into the ocean disguised as a hotel pool,
and they dove right in,
interlocking the dangling parts of who they once were.
But, this kind of thing is not stable,
and there is no room in the show for it,
not that kind of wonder.
He left her in a bright spark of blue waves,
she followed soon after in a blackened sleep,
bottle of cures cast aside the bed.
Both of their demises failed.
So, they walked to shaky ground.
spilling the dust of lost love and splinters,
wondering where they used to belong,
settling for so much less than that dream.
For the soul is only initially entwined,
when there is that kind of unexpected bargain,
not that kind of love.
Futures and Folly :: Blitzen Trapper