
The train to my heart is very slow
Stopping at many stationsOn the crowded platform a young girl watches her mother go
She never turns around, the mahogany of her hair becoming indistinguishable against fading day
A girl who since loses sight
Listening rather than seeing
Smelling the impression of movement
Folded like a Spanish rose on my chest, I breathe you in
How you form words with your quick violinist arms
Taut tense musculature, willing air demons
Those same arms clutching me to you, heart beating, no words
It rained that day all day from morning to night
“That never happens here” you said, mouth full of plum
“The desert doesn’t like to give up its ghosts. Come here to me, come back to bed”
And I
In my shedding evening dress, trailing thought
Confessed my sum;
The train to my heart is very slow
Stopping at many stations
None to embark
Stay the course
In our chalked circle
Tracing abbreviated land with invisible hands
Till cactus give wild her bloom and color reborn
Your eyes in darkness, catching light, like wine beneath glass
Fortunate are those who ride
Ride the train to a heart
Who stay aboard or
Get back on
At all the stations along the way
Who ride that train all the way
And dare to step out
At that heart’s station
To stay
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Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
TheFeatheredSleep – Train to a heart
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