Your Back Patio

On the back patio we watched
the stars move across the sky,
little incisions etched
into the purple blanket of forever
revealing the lightness above us.

There’s no shelter from heartache
when our hands are intertwined
And the alcohol is swimming circles in our blood.
It’s a sickly kind of love.
A possessing love.
A fire that burns without oxygen, without incentive.

Beneath our feet the scarred wood
moans in tandem with the weight of our footsteps,
recalling the vibrations of the souls who
danced here before, whose skeletons
grew tender under these lights.

In this place I find a peace that cannot
be replicated, for it is this cold menthol air
and the conversations floating like wind through
the evergreens that bring me solace, and quiet
my combustive mind.

I will not cower from these feelings.
Happiness may be a friend who has long
been erased from my mind, but it is of no
consequence now.
Shelter me in your daylight, lover, and
show me the strings that move my tired spirit.