One more for the Road

I remember the feeling and what I cannot distinguish is if it was ever real, if I felt it at all, or if the entire gust is a manufactured memory on repeat, bursting in tiny baubles of shrapnel hope bubbling out of the glazed imprint that if a man wishes hard enough for the purpose of his life to form into the encapsulated identity of another human being miraculously present despite all odds and he feels it and doubts it and it phases into his lips and skin and bears tangible reality to make poetry come alive like a mermaid jostling the thrust of waters upon his cheeks baiting him to breathe deeply, passionately underwater, fervently into the breast of the universe until the pale-lands crack away, the ignominy of regret, embarrassment and lost time crawl out the room and it is just her and me in this pulsating palpable state where she can lick the asteroids right out of the belt for time to undulate like a whirlwind whipping fervent decisiveness to be this man, to speak boldly and directly transcribing the events of the present alive in meter and resonance that dwarfs all the school days and choir girls, pew kneels and tones of island homes for this one chance, this one chance for the light of the gods to shine upon him to split the sky into an orange heaven kiss perfecting the notion that I may not be, but in this moment I am.  I am in this cresting godly embrace a torrent of legs in rapture swirling clouds with her in these colors and marshmallow fluff she and I are alive and I am drinking the audacity to be patient, to enjoy the landscape, the view, the idea that maybe every step to here was for this, for this being to envelope with me to be a sphere of the timeless created between the cataclysm that there was never one who made more sense to explain how and who the being is that reverberates inside this illusion of skin but her.  All of that, all of that blasting the furnace and sprite of the goddess prompting the laughter of true unadulterated joy and in one question, one notion of twisted notion of hypothesized tomorrows of what love itself is, abandonment strutting in the morning light, never to be seen again.