Bus Seats and Khaki Pant Pleats

From June 10-11, 2012

She sat on the bus, her mind in inner space,
Today she forgot to paint a smile upon her face.
I saw her, and right away in my heart I knew,
She knew the pain that gnaws away at you.
She had dressed herself up, looking the part,
But I saw through her disguises from the start.
The verdict was in, her sorrow complete,
Her trembling foot rustled beneath her seat.
She glanced outside, at the passing terrain,
In my heart I knew we were the same.

I was the loser again, forbidden to win.
Loving too much was my only deadly sin.
She'd torn at my heart, pulled at the strings.
Pushed all my buttons, checkmated my king.
Piled up in the corner of another empty room,
Another conversation could spell certain doom.
She found me broken, then broke me further,
The only thing worse would have been murder.
And here I sit, alone on a city bus at sunset,
Running away from everything, trying to forget.

Something about the agony in her eyes
Beckoned me closer. Milky white thighs,
Hidden beneath her masculine power suit,
Backpack big enough to be a parachute.
She glanced my way, I looked away, but
I was still healing from the last deep cut.
She motioned me over to sit next to her,
I complied hesitantly, only reluctantly sure.
We talked for an eternity in hushed voices,
I was acting recklessly, making rash choices.

Turning in my seat next to her on the bus,
I rested my hand on her knee, afraid of a fuss.
But all I received was a brief pause, before
She continued telling me more and more,
About how her guy she had given 50 chances,
And how she would always ignore passing glances,
But something in my eyes seemed less malicious,
And she was hungry for anything lovely and delicious.
I leaned in and pressed my lips to hers... wow.
Suddenly there was only one moment: now.

The pieces I lacked, she held close to her chest,
I told her how I felt, and she thought I was just
Infatuated or the oldest boy to ever have a crush,
I shut her up with my mouth; every nerve: a rush.
She told me about her baby-daddy who was bad news,
She sang me her stories as if they were the blues.
I held her as close as I could, while sitting on a bus-seat,
Slowly I felt, her hands lingered up my khaki pants pleat.
Her heart beat in time with mine, our breathing became
As one. Two sides of an old silver coin; we are the same.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed the story. Funny how two people can connect if they desire. I like how you led the reader to the good ending. Everyone need a friend to listen and be kind. A very good ending to a outstanding poem.
Coyote