My man hides his fallen face
under hard and worn out weathered grace
silken patches of charcoal snow
He likes my leather. He likes my lace.
but he doesn’t trust the broken place
where I got them so very long ago
He tells me love’s a silly dance
for empty souls to clash & chance
crying in their bartered clothes
We share smokes. We share wine.
and he asks me for my time
as if there’s somewhere else I have to go
My man is slow in his advance
he hasn’t touched on real romance
since the winter of ‘79
He’ll only meet me at the bar
armed with his drinks & his guitar
like it’s some clever new design
His words are flat & shaded gray
a selfish lover’s castaway
I haven’t yet learned to leave alone
So we sit & we plan the things that we’ll do
carve out our dreams. a future or two.
while he quietly remembers his home
Oh my man will always care for me
as a savior from his memory
but his heart will never be my own