The two-faced god
slowly turned his head,
earth spun slow
like a silent carousel
and found us
here, aligned.
Same place, different time
different face, some time.
Flickers and glitches,
torrents of fresh words
in familiar voices.
Tales of midnight euphoria
tragedy teased
but averted,
the pump of thick
and desperate thighs,
dark almond eyes
I once scraped myself
bare of flesh
to plunge into,
naked and trembling.
The echo of dented metal
against fist and
lacy expectations
as two warships
passed into night.
Candy trails,
stiff longing restrained
by soaked fabric,
porch lights aflame
and my conductor’s hand
orchestrating new timelines
as violet rain fell
softly.
My dripping heart
thaws,
breaks a little.
This exquisite fragility,
all is not
futility.
Stories I began
but never finished
read back to me now
as epic poems
of vinyl and ritual.
I was wrong.
I was never forgotten
nor insignificant.
© S. Rinderle, 2/16/25
