The Lofidel

In a moment of miles

He wakes to confusion:

Is she stranger or lover?

Gorging to finish the night before

You wouldn’t take him to be the kind of guy

With smiley faces dotting his I’s

He’ll find that there is much to be found

The same day he forgot to wash the ink from his hands

From the morning paper

But dropped anchor anyhow

Looming forgetfulness or naivety

Anyone could tell he handled her nervously

Rolling over, he smeared the black powder mess all over her breasts and face

They met through the Coffee Saints

Decided they might as well cover Coffee Stains

But could she be the wrong song, played at the wrong time?

Preserving rather than conserving?

In the name of beasts or paranormal light-sides

Or the undecided middle grey smudge containing their species

They were questions of faith, nothing more

But he worried that her facts seemed to pollute

His observations and compositions

Of blood and soul and honest concern...

They crumbled to his feet, just to trip him

So thinks this man over-bored

And so he doesn’t holler it out

By the advice of men that fell before him

Stopped hearing so hard, those melodies

“They mean nothing to me”

Those men said the same and fell off

At about the same age

Giving in to bribes

That matched their frustrations

Because in a perfect, breezy magic-hour

We all find our price

So, now he longs for the morning sun

To reach his seams, to warm his constricted fingertips

Of which he suspects he must have held above his heart for too long

Cold covering his lips, just to speak gingerly

Not to feel candidly

A guest he has been, he feels, for far too long…

So he tries his hardest to cold stare her

Without stirring her

Just analyzing her

Neglecting the first rays of day

And so, on he stares

Man over-bored

Finds his mansion

In the containment

Of her hairpin

Finds his confidence

In the safe confines

Of her period piece

Finds his spine

Pressed against

The comforting plume

Of her cuddle space

And just shy

Of violent rapture

He falls around her

And wonders, "To rise again?"

And in another

Measurement of whatever

He will find solutions in her distraction

Because her distraction is reality

And her reality

Is within him

And in that bone-snapped moment

He recalls the morning sun

As it reflects off of the brand new curves of their shoulders and face

And in the nick of time he’ll feel right

To clean that black powder mess

With his first loving kiss

Before it bleeds into her eyes

And stings them from sleep.