Legs

I wasn’t there the night
Train wheels grounded your supple flesh into gravel,
Branding track prints into your skin.
But today underneath rectangular neon lights
You are no back alley, tattooed king,
Instead,
You are a beached bulldog on white hospital wings
Nursing yourself back together with morphine.

Old school, old skin lover,
Etch me with words,
Milk me with poetry.
You – who brought me to myself,
Whose methylamphetimized limbs
Once swayed to techno beats –
How will you stand?
How will you tiptoe over stones,
Allowing pain to press its heart
Into the soles, of sore tired feet?

Prosthetic hearts replace
Legs sawed away.
You pretend indifference
When I grace you with the scent of my presence
Passing through marijuana memories
Thick as clotted blood.

Remember when we crossed over
Those superimposed lines?
When I purred in softly,
Slid my tongue over toe, over heel,
Melting my body
Against your freckled skin?

Fountains of Mickeys and wine
We drank
Hardcore and bongwater
We moshed our sweating bodies
Together we connected…

And I know,
You will walk again in graffiti corners
Through back alleys,
My guardian angel,
With legs,
Legs that hitchhiked all over this spineless city,
Legs,
Legs that braked for hitchhiker feet.

I push your wheelchair across the crowded street,
Watch the sun settle into amputated clouds
As you resign yourself to the sidewalk
To peel away time.