Bus stoppin’, droppin’ off comers and goers
tourist bouncing off citified loners
Drownin’ in my headphones, boppin to the beat, sitting at the bus stop on Purgatory Street.
It’s a low blow for the hobo trying for spare change
to rearrange the pieces of his life
Ignored by the hoard of most of us, as we mirror, mirror each other
All aboard bus number 22, I sit way to the back for a thorough overview
bus driver jiving meet and greets - driving down the street
next stop, here we go, in walks a beauty, this is pivotal
First gear propels her to the rear and here she sits right down in front of me
and under me the road takes us to our future
she’s my centerpoint focus of my centrifugal drifting imagination
It could be, this could be the day where everythings changes
falls into place where the look in your face it says everything
Could it be, could this be a day for the ages
so take a chance, open up, see what comes, and tempt fate
The back of her head challenges the memory of her face
as the evening sun slides behind the buildings scraping the sky
A gift from above the laws of mirrors and reflections manifest
and the quest to see her face again ends
Silence seems to be the loudest curse
or worst is the emerging urgency gripping my throat.
She’s so close, a word away, she’s so close a word away
Air brakes accelerate our fate, it’s a half past hesitate
a sidestep stubble of my words not said leads her to her next stop
Steppin off the bus she turns her head and from her lips she says goodbye to me
A murderless crow flies so low under a waning daylight moon
soaring against the wind. The rip tides that brought her to me
tumble me back, tumble me back, tumble me back to Purgatory Street.
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