Vagabond

He said he was a drifter

Spanish moss and slide guitar

And I was learning to fly

On mended wings. 

We burned hours talking

The smoke scorching our lungs

Swirling our breath

In and out

Like fireflies 

Blinking

On and off

Sending quiet signals

That maybe you were nervous

And my anxiety isn’t anything to fool with

But he set me to ease

When he leaned back in his chair. 

Body language just opening up doors. 

I don’t think for a single second I really relaxed 

That deep relaxation you get around someone

Where your heart settles in your chest

Like fog settles around

North facing rocks

No my heart was humming

Because I’m just a person out here

Lying flat on my back

As I wind down this lazy river. 

Barely breathing to stay afloat

And it sucks to be a poet sometimes

Because I wanna write about every little heartbreak. 

Every little “I miss you”

Every little encounter 

Every time I just can’t quit a person

The irony is the person is me. 

I wanna write about how going slow is sometimes just as dangerous as moving fast 

And how time, no matter how fast or slow I’m moving, stands still

When I think for a second about what could be. 

Or what could have been. 

Or what’s next. 

I don’t mind shooting from the hip 

But the truth is I’m better at bleaching bones

Then going in for the kill. 

So when he kissed me

I felt it. 

Deep down in the recesses of my poet’s heart. 

And it was sweetly terrifying.