Two Streets Back

Two streets back

a lighthouse dims; gone black.

Only a scent is left

-sea salt, and his sweat.

A beach, silk sand

surf, smiles and sunburn.

Waves crash on cracking cliff faces

undiscovered spaces, rocky damp places.

But that street two streets back

it comes to me when it's dark,

when stars depart,

just behind the park is where it starts.

Public housing.

cheap wine and weed,

peeling cardboard windows,

a sticky stench of misdeeds.

 
An empty room,

A mattress bare.

frayed stained carpet,

seeping deep red.

A debt - unknowing.

An expectation - growing.

And the scent -

sticky salt sweat

stung in my senses

stuck in my crevasses.

Now, it’s burnt

in the scorching sand beneath,

the calluses beneath my feet,

the skip in my heart beat.

Salt, sweat, shame

it all smells the same,

an ocean beckons me forth

and for the very first time out loud

I say his fucking name.

. . .

Breathe deep.

his crime is not mine to keep,

the fault not mine,

I am taken with the tide.

Sea salt, like rain

it strips the shame away.

I am weightless in the sea

from two streets back I am free.