Just an old fashioned love song

November first. The rain washes in. The feeling washes in.

Heart full of heaviness

the liquid weight of regret

thinking about the

tables of the past

hands in yours

eyes on yours

the blood in the air

aimed on you

life spread out across the

tabletop, the sidewalk, into the city

while you knew you were going to

be something

before the years beat you down

before success came too late

and merely put a stop

to suicide

a phone call from the past

an old song from the radio

of your decade

playing across your heart

in hopeless recapture

of things you can’t do without

outside the rain beats down

upon the driveway, the car, the

garage holding all the things

that were once almost mysterious to you.

Back in here listening to the rain upon the roof of my study

missing the little things

that made me feel

at one with the blood

in the air

the love

the hands

and eyes

and hair

across the table

the beauty within

those things

that kept

flesh young

kept the blood

moving toward

something

better

than

good.