Recurring (II)

And then you left.
I was sprawled out with palms full of rust
From clawing at the Detroit-made frame of a 1990 Ford Econoline
With the wind-screens just thin enough to spit through.
By now we know how it goes-
Winter stays too long, we cancel plans when it's gotten too cold.
But when the sun shines, this city turns to gold.

I had that dream again.
Where my eyes are sutured shut and I'm trying to read.

Where we dance until we cannot
Walk until the fights had all been
Fought until the day was
Nights like that, sleep will never find me.
But will we ever find you again?
Will your letter ever reach my door?

I had that dream again.
Where I shout your name at the figure across the street and the traffic blares.
I think that I could have done a better job to surround myself with all of the people who'd have done me well.
I'm just a little white man with the little white lies I tell myself to repress who it felt.
Because it feels like my whole life I've been waiting to go home.
So where do I go?