i make my home at crossroads. a bottle
of whiskey. here, it is always midnight &
i am always needing to find a new way home. tell me,
what has been following you into the cellars
of your language? recently i discovered that
all trains must pass through my heart
to reach their destinations. i am all rush & rails.
i catelog faces, as they peer out car windows at my wild organs.
do you remember sitting, facing one another?
you moving backwards & me forwards? a bottle
of gin. an offering is not just a gift but a pathway.
i say, "i have been waiting for you."