Garage Moon

poetic_star's picture

Your hands ghost over my arms and land on the springy mattress.
I'm only pretending to sleep so the movement doesn't shock me.
The creamy shadows of trucks on the country highway slip in
through the blinds and flash over our titled forms on my bed.
"You're a terrible actor," you whisper in my ear.
"But that's what I love about you; how everything is so real."
And then your stinging June lips scale down
the side of my neck and I grin, unfazed by
the teasing notes in your gravel and snowflake voice,
reaching my hands up to pull you further
into this shallow turquoise pool dream of sorts.

I couldn't forget you if I tried;
not even when the red-faced sun
knocks on my door, telling me that
this will be just another day
where we behave like best
friends in tattered jeans and my
worst feelings go unheard
because I'm terrified of your reaction.

But nobody know me better
than this autumn-haired boy
who saved my ass way back in middle school.
That's why it's so astonishing how you can't
already see this little wicked
secret scribbled on my face in bold lettering.
Baby, it's pointless to even
consider driving out to some desert bar or
college party in hopes of
finding affection in superficial
hugs and brittle kissing,
so please stop suggesting it.
Your warm lean body is
the only one I want pressed
up against my own, darling.

At some point, everything
about this place starts getting old;
grassy subdivisions packed full of
unoriginal drones on summer nights
smelling of coal and honey.
But you always know where I like
to go to get my mind off
these tragic Orion thoughts.

Strumming on a dusty guitar
with inexperienced fingers,
I try to rewrite history so
that we'd never play-kissed before.
It was a long time ago,
I don't think you remember
but you were my first
back when we both
admitted to being
closet freaks with
glam pencils and
a desire to run away from home.

Oh if I wanted to,
I would've left by now,
hopping on a Greyhound
bus for the hypnotic lights
of an ashtray and clean coffee metropolis.
And I know I'm easily frustrated but your
hand on my chest is the
only thing that calms me
in the midst of hopelessness.
So I'm waiting for you to
realize that all I want is
to lie down beside you
and feel something different.

Under a disgraced white lace moon,
you find me writing tired lyrics
against the spiderweb wall of
my beat-up father's garage.
Not even that old man knows
me like you do, friend,
and somehow the thought is comforting.
The silent way your eyes scream words
and cutting edge emotions;
I can drink it all in and still want more
like how I did when
we were seventeen,
confused and utterly lost.

Boy, your thundering heart beneath my palm,
the rough material of your long-sleeved shirt
and the halting whisper of my name;
it seems you're too aware of how to
break me, so why not just crumple up this
person into bits that you can swallow later
because the scariest part of all this is
that I want to die inside you, my love.

Comments

Bosemaster42's picture

I love,

the last stanza. Very nice.

poetic_star's picture

thank you

:)

ElsaGabor's picture

Wow!

I really, really like this! :DD

poetic_star's picture

:)

and I'm glad you do :P