Orphan

Orphan

If I write these words then it means you do not exist

But in a figment of a photograph smiling at me

In the waves of a an orphan woman wandering in

My imagination hitchhiking hands in pockets

Staring at a desert horizon of cactus and orange haze

Drinking down another day over a hill

A silhouette in flowing locks taking steps over the parts

Of speech I wish we had, tucked under the saddle inside a bag

Of tools for a road I can not follow you upon

A vagabond of rose petal smells and match-struck boots

Burning a fragrance wandering my sheets inside olfactory memories

Concocted from want and knowing it’s the same stale smell

Of my follicles tumble-weeding on night after day to say

I wish my words sounded differently, a tangerine dream

Scripted on the hieroglyphics of a past that never was

Just a picture of you resting there and pause

Dream a song and a morning to your words the stroll like a croissant

Upon my counter, breakfast on the dollar I can get no one to accept

For thoughts that left my soul so long ago wafting

Trampled under time like the bed sheets of a life unfolded

Just for one side tucked in a space in half and knowing the path

Of smoke rings over hills puffing up in signals never seen

That she is walking on, silhouetted by the sea between

Orphan to a lover she will never meet