If you were stood here watching my eyes, you would see a reflection of what I see before me,
Of smoking clouds punching at the forever seas, crashing waves to starry heights.
You see, there is an alluding mystery that pins me to this place,
Like a song playing on loop,
Tangled hair buffering in the breeze.
There is certainty in memories repeated.
If you were here, you’d hear me humming your biker name,
Stood in clad leather, a girl in the gang, your girl called,
You would tune into the fine red threads that pass over my eyeballs like road maps.
And I know that you’d know, that they are red thread highways, carved away over time,
by my desert love.