Saint Christopher

This is the truth

This is the same cracked leather seat
Where I have sat, fidgeting
Barest brush of my shoulder against yours
A moment that sparks through me
Heat lightning in a dark carriage
Dazzling me to stillness

I must confess
But to whom?
Who is there to ask forgiveness from?
And do I even want to be forgiven?

Half-moon arcs, pink against the yielding pale
Are testament to my restraint
And if I smoke another cigarette
It’s not because I want to
It’s because if I don’t
The leash will snap
And you will never forgive me

They call you saint
To your face
But don’t you want
To fall from grace?
Come on, baby
Heaven can’t preserve us

This is not the same seat
Where I have sat, slumbering
Carried on your back across the platform
A moment where my breath warmed your neck
The moonlight flickers through a different carriage
And I don’t know the destination

I look out the window
My vision stars to blur
Along with the lines
And you are at my side
The space between us a storm

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