I was never the kind of girl
To steady her legs against
The rusty thrill
Of movie theatre boiler rooms,
Or line my nose of
Street drugs and Methadone,
But I used to watch the way she moved,
Stoic and swift, the soft
Of her lips a canyon of stories
I could throw my whole life into.
The secondhand rosary that lay
Limp between her swelled chest,
A silver burst of stirring rhythm
To a beat I could never dance to.
I was all about words and center,
A burning churn in bedcovers, well-read,
But she could never understand
The way the lines felt,
Wedged between my neck bone,
Floating from my mouth.
I think the truth of my voice
Burned into her soul,
Me and my library of word tricks
And wild enunciations.
I wanted to walk her through
Crowded shelves of love stories,
Her mouth against my neck,
Ice cream still sweet on my lips.
I wanted to invite her into
The crowded closet
Of my hearts left ventricle
And allow her to live
Inside my safe place.
Someone who would save her
From herself,Maybe I could have been that girl.
**Written for a prompt at Poets United.