Good Morning

The mountain range upon your chest
awakens at a simple touch,
a few loose hands starving for the climb.
Last night I watched you
breathe sweet summer scents,
familiar peach cigars,
and friendly drug races.
No one dares ask
who’s sober
this morning.

Windows were opened,
a point of no return
for lost souls
in flight.
Wavering winds carried most
to safety -
mangled skulls and pavement.

I write them down:
nameless,
untitled lives.
I promise them a place
in this world
that has forgotten us all.

I ask how long I’ve been tied
to my own sentences
and I cannot answer with a straight face.

Too many have asked for a song
and received a poem;
and I am to blame.
You cannot write a song without a name.
I have tried, failed,
misery concealed in smoke rings
and calloused fingers.

Sobriety stops me from entering
the most inner workings
of your mind.

I watch you dribble dreams next to me,
jealous that you’re
always running your own way.

I am what they call a safe zone,
a limp wrist in a fist fight.

You are the mouth of wisdom,
too hungry to be saved from the devil’s hands.