under silky pink clouds
your hands traced
lines across my
earthen face
and revealed
the strata
of my age

"what's this?"
you asked me

"nothing,"
i replied
"just the places
i've been."

there were so many things
i saw
from the burning tar
canopies
of my youth
least of which
left weeds of old stories
which get more invasive
and apparent
with the greys on
my head

the mindless fights
stained raw on my palms
the eulogies
scrawled across the buildings
like prison tattoos
the shades of men
disappearing into the
shrouds of skyscrapers
where they fade
like forgotten abuses
the shared beers
sweet for the sharing
and always leaving the
bitterness of parting
and the sticky
swarms of rain
which left the
stray dogs lost
and sniffing out home
in futility

and then there was you
hanging in my life
some single blossom
hiding amongst the vines
which choked out the
barren red brick
of barren institutions
where i learned
the wrong lessons

from the gloom
you sang to me
driving fiery horses
across the frozen plains
of a life wasted

for you
i will welcome the rain
though i may lose my way
another home
will shine on me
and the rain
will wash the streets clean
of the filth of history
and finally
we will dance again
alone and in
galaxies

your hands
in mine
shivering like
angels
in the snow
tracing the lines
of my palms

"what's this?"
you will ask

"nothing,"
i'll reply
"just the places
we'll go."