Desert Breeze IV: “Sealed with a Kiss”

A few months had passed since I have left home. A discarded cell phone left ringing at the bottom of a rest stop trash can and the keys to a beaten ’91 Haritage Softail Harley rest in my hands as I waited for the check at a diner.

“Pay at the register, sweetheart.”

The waitress in a pinstriped dress with a white apron handed me the black book showing my dues for a plate of French fries and a coke. I responded with a smile and a nod but sat silently. I only spoke when I needed to. I did plenty of talking within my thoughts

At this point I wasn’t sure if I would ever head home. Each moment I was certain about polar opposite decisions. Being adamant with each only proved my indecisiveness.

I walked to cash rep and handed the lady my check with a twenty. Her mind was focused on each note, counting and recounting each dollar as if linen in the bills were silk. On the counter stacked postcards within a rack, one of which read “Crossroads of America.” I held it in my hand for only a moment. The edges were worn and the photo was faded from the southward facing windows.

“Take the postcard, they don’t sell anyways.”

“Thank you.” –I said, with a mediocre grin

Writing a note on the back would defeat the entire purpose of running away so I kissed it for good luck, which left a red lip stain in the musk back. I then tucked it in my leather jacket and took off on my bike.

I’ve been in this small Midwestern town for four days. People are starting to recognize me as an outsider. Tomorrow I will head out to avoid small talk and questions about who I am and where I am from.

Driving back to the motel I looked at the sun falling behind the clouds, a storm is coming. The sky turned a greyish green and the atmosphere was still. Not a person is out of their home and not a soul is traveling on the road. It’s just me trying to outrun the lightening, a race against the squall.

My room at the motel is on the bottom floor, making the second story a canopy from the falling drops of water. I pulled a fold out chair outside and listened to the pouring rain as a curiously stared at the “Crossroads of America” postcard that was gifted to me. The lipstick stain remained on the back as the senders address was left blank.

At this moment I thought about home. I thought about each person that was left behind and the reasons for that. Mostly, I thought about the friendships I replaced with lonesome days following the backs of cars on the open road. In this moment I thought about how selfish I was to leave. Regret left me slightly discouraged to continue on my journey.

I continued to stare at the blank address space. I thought if only there was a way to move forward without holding on to my past, but most importantly allow them to forget about my past.
I kissed the postcard again for good luck and got back on my bike, an exhilarating feeling driving in the pouring rain. This trip wasn’t intended to be long, just back to town. The sleek roads occasionally made my tired skid, but that did not stop me from accelerating my speed.

When I had reached a blue mailbox and held the handle for some time while nervously tapping the card with my other hand on my left leg.

I got back on bike even though I could hardly see the roads. The storm worsened but stopping now would only leave me in the middle of the country, between two corn fields, waiting out the storm. At the time, I thought it would be best to tough it out.

When I reached the final turn I skidded again, this time losing complete control. The bike tipped and slid until my entire body wrapped around a telephone pole. From then on, I only saw light. The sun beaming from the sky and all the worlds darkness escaped through the holes in the clouds. I rested there, peacefully, enjoying the sun’s rays drying my rain drenched body.

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It’s been months since any of us have heard from her, but I could never forget her handwriting, especially after years of passing notes in high school. I knew it was my best friend. This is her obscure way of telling me that she loves me and everything is ok. Secretes even from miles away are best kept between the greatest friendships. So I spoke to sky, thinking that her free spirit could hear me, “love you too.”

 

 

 

A Devilish Flight

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The light turned red so she came to a halt
Over her shoulder she could see the devil to the left
Despite the grim stare he was looking his best
Attracted by his luring appeal she turned west

With the burning sun in her eyes she followed the sky
The heat increased and he lifted her feat
With out restraints and no feelings that were weak
She started to fly while looking him in the eyes

Closer she drew to the burning sun
Only if she knew what she had just begun
Given the gift of flight
Lured in by beauty brought to her sight

If she only knew hell was a place up high

Solo Yo

-moon-a

Porque te fuiste sin regresar
No tengo una foto de ti
Solo mi memoria

No recuerdo cómo se sienten tus besos
Todo lo que queda es tu olor en mi almohada
Porque te fuistes

The smoke floated gently to the sky
As I looked at the moon
Lightly
Softly
Peacefully

Miro al cielo para ver tus ojos

A million stars look back
But I can never find you there
Sólo me veo yo

Sólo yo
Sólo yo
Sólo yo

Porque te fuiste

Writings on the Wall

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Venice, Italy 

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Venice, Italy


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Frankfurt, Germany 

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Frankfurt, Germany

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London, England

043
Dublin, Ireland

182
Dublin, Ireland

059
Barcelona, Catalonia

081
Barcelona, Catalonia

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Barcelona, Catalonia

054
Amsterdam, Netherlands

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Amsterdam, Netherlands

Recycled: “Blind in Paris”

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Blind in Paris.

Red Dress

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She walked into the room with her red dress
Heads turned with eye fixated on her assets

“Look at her, just look at her.”
The men held desire to feel the alabaster skin
The women envied her, wanting nothing more than to be her twin

She sat at the end of the bar
Alone
And lit her cigarette
The tip orange
The end stained with lipstick

The look on her face was relentless
But held no regret

Waiting
Waiting for no one
Waiting for nothing
Waiting for the time to gently pass

She sipped her glass

He spent his day watching minutes on a clock
Nine to five tapping a pencil on oak desk top
Loosened his tie and walked in

“Cognac”

His eyes caught hers

Whispering sweet nothings into her ear
At the end of the night they both disappeared

Clothes scattered across the floor

She woke up and zipped up her dress
No longer looking like someone to impress

She spent her day watching minutes on a clock
Nine to five tapping a pencil on oak desk top

He lay still alone in his bed
Not knowing he will never see her again

Awoke with a look on his face that was relentless
But held no regret

He sat at the end the bar waiting

Waiting for someone
Waiting for something
Waiting for the time to gently pass
Waiting for that red dress

T R A N S I T I O N

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In front of us we see light
Behind us we see the past
Around us darkness
With a loss of cognition

But my love, it’s just you and I
Lost in this transition

The blind walk into the opaque with ease
Reaching the light with grace
Not fearful of the unknown
Not frightened by mistakes

It’s those, it’s us, who’ve walked this path before
We shake
Stutter
Hesitate

In front of us is fantasy
Behind us are memories
Around us fear
With attrition

I’ll pick up your fallen pieces
If only you pass the paste
Because, my love, we mustn’t fall into remission