Love Me Syndrome
Another tempestuous night in Town Park, melancholy
Wild Thoughts, seeks harbor from the fell dampness.
Across an old Maple, restroom facilities, in a stall,
His Swiss Knife carves, help!- a grounded cardinal,
Over faded, besought scratches, then his number.
The windows behold an ashen canvas, dashing away
A lustrous moon, sour lampposts, the path back & ahead,
But in buckets of rain, runs a scarlet damsel his way.
Wild Thoughts escapes on some path, Love Me Syndrome
Skips past roley- poley earthworms stuck in puddles.
The gales deepen in fury. By the Maple, a scarlet,
Melancholy soul runs to the restroom, closes the stall.
She sees unspeakable markings, one freshly concerning.
A knife on the basin, she dials the splintered number,
My name is Lonesome Dove, I’ve waited a long time for you.
A calm develops, drenched footsteps echo anticipations.
The beautiful ones, raised to know what comes & goes,
But not what stays- saturated under fluorescent sight,
They sparkle. Lonesome Dove eases five minutes in.
Your real name isn’t Wild Thoughts. Care to know mine?
From outside, a whip of lightning licks the Maple,
Crackling, thickly green branches smoke up, catch fire.
They ponder a tragic moment. Is it you? He knows, It’s
Me. Tragedy. She flies, red tail vanishing in the rain.
That night, a tornado brewed, ravaging Town Park.
Love Me Syndrome claimed one, but not the other.