Of strangers falling asleep next to each other on buses

I've never met you before but 
I can tell that if you had five dollars
you wouldn't be able to decide between
African violets and the mini-cacti 
wearing the blue flowers
like old ladies in ornate hats--
You eat an apple at 11:47 a.m.every day
right before the bus gets there--
Pull back hair that begs for night time
and grey head bands
We've all had wrists for blue plastic bags
but you wear yours like bangles--
Haven't we all fallen in love
with someone at a bus stop?
Not for honeymoon but for pilgrimage
and the prospect of someone else driving
you off into their own forever.
Slept together like third grade sleepover
when you could touch everyone like
a brownie tray or a quilted blanket--
Sometimes on a bus I close my
eyes and pretend that I had missed my stop--
I pretend to sleep like it's Christmas eve
and my mouth tastes like sugar cookies--
I pretend the bus was inevitably headed
for the city-- like there is nothing
I can do but wait for my arrival
at at station poised in time somewhere 
between 1921 and 1996-- before I 
was imagined and dug out
of one of God's blue play dough jars--
Doors open to the station where
someone hands me a oboe and I can
play it even though I haven't played
one since fifth grade-- it sounds
like honey packets and melted ice cream--
drips on my shoes and everyone there knows
I'm a poet-- they all missed their stops
too and we sleep together like
brownie trays and quilted blankets
swing like blue plastic bags on
wrists that rustle like African violets.