Thunder sky in endless bliss-
Now in Texas, then in Carolina’s twisting hills-
While here down below, my wrist are tired
And this time not from writing for the choir.
When will we kiss again, My Love.
I miss your touch.
Let’s do it here, now, beneath the storm.
Let’s do it wet, in darkness like this.
Or in grandfather’s old shotgun shack
Before he blew his head off., back then
I’m ok, mine were other wounds
But I blood-lined them back into mine.
A hand slipped down my pants too soon
And she, the sitter, got away. I’m fine now
But each storm reminds me
Of his face I never saw buried in fall leaves
As another storm passed by.
And when will we kiss again my love
And our bones stand up and begin
To dance beneath clear skies.
And his body, crippled by self inflicted blow
Start to glow and rise up again my friend.
Thunder skies in endless bliss
I only pray for a kiss of sun like this.
My wrist are tired
She found the gun
And I am still the only living son
Who remembers all this
On nights like this
On a night like this.