There is no place where it’s just you and meNowhere where a trail of triviality doesn’t crowd
Us out of our conjoint selves, split into tawdry
Companies of millions. Nowhere is it allowed
That I should draw the cloak of your stillnessAbout my shoulders, drop the thin wispy wrap
Of noiseless raging chaos that always surrounds us.
That I should leave my hands idle in your lap.
The frenzied skipping of gold sunlight on silverThe mad rush of the storm whipping up sands
Mimics the mindless movements of my fingers
Mimics my mindless minds and mindless hands.
No place where it’s just me and you, my quiet nails
Fallen like moonlit leaves on your skin, their curve
Gentle, the veins obscured and fuzzy, no details
Getting past the swell of their slight, flushed reserve.
The endless chatter of birds stepping up to a crescendo.
Reflections of ropes and rigging quivering up into the skies
The swish of lanes into old cars, the swinging innuendo
In tail lights blinking on and off against the rise
Of polished tarmac, the sheen of animal print rosettes
Screaming dark within a low slung evening cloud.
No place where I can curl into you and forget
A hundred shreds of interruptions. Raucous and loud.