64x

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we stayed up
all night long,
until we heard
the bird song
and we talked
of the time,
you saw that ufo
in mexico
and you played me
all the greats:
john prine,
jim croce
and george strait
and i introduced you
to my god:
leonard cohen
and i gave you
all sorts of shit
for your
silk pajama set,
the kind
with the pinstripes
that the rich suburban
moms wear
and you asked me
about my grandmother,
and it burned my eyes,
when you said
you wished
you could’ve met her
and i wrote
on your back
with my fingertips,
as you tried
to guess
the things
i was too scared
to say aloud
and we decided
not to fuck
that night,
i can’t remember
why
and in the morning
when i left,
a lightning bolt
struck the sycamore
out back,
severed a limb,
left the nub black
we forever loved
thunderstorms
after that
and i didn’t tell you
enough, babe
but you were
as pretty as
a train wreck,
i couldn’t
take my eyes
off of you
everything
you did
left me
speechless
everything
you did
gave me
the feeling
of watching jesus
walk on water
i don’t know how
a love like that
can last
and you remember
how it was
towards the
beginning
mornings bled
into afternoons
like the
blurred edges
of a rothko painting
the days evaporated
like fallen rain
atop the hot face
of tennessee asphalt
and sleep hurt
the way
a good book hurts
when you end a chapter
and turn the page
and one day i might
turn our story
into a screenplay
pull a hemingway
and rewrite the end
64x
until i
drive myself mad
until i
finally get it right.