Hands on the Wheel, (just steer north)

I am a mess, a wreck,
worked up and worried like an insect in a web
but the silk stringing me down is really just a thread of words pulled from my head
and not disconnected,
one constant stream of thought with no right or wrong end and here tonight like every other night,

I am a velvet textured carnation imprinted on your outdated wallpaper,
hold still and the story is heard because my words connect to my mouth
like sounds out of orchards at twilight when i strolled across serenity to meet you,

we listen like walls staying still and solid,

we listen to the silence pulsing between your lower lip and your upper teeth,
the indentations on your mouth showed me where to wash for secret-keeping
because secrets are dirty when they mean my balance is buoyed

Keep me afloat at all costs because little white lies taste like when you and me turned more from love longevity to lusty liberty,
The god awful truth is that the music that plays in my head when you talk
makes this a melodrama
but the turning in my stomach points toward star-crossed mistakes,
I am the blind astronomer following instinct when navigating the empty space where mercy used to fit,

Trying to understand the contents of your spacesuit with one hand gnarled in a death grip on your lungs because my oxygen is out and you have always given back to my bone.

But here I am with the spine of serpents pliable and suspicious;
searching past sunset to see a solution…

But here I am praying for sun again and the stars will disappear,

in my dark there are pinpoints of light to love and learn;
there is always something to look to in the dark.

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