wanderlust love
for the train
that will wander with more lust
than i will ever be able to keep up with
and longer than i can stand to wait
for its return
from further away than i can imagine.
but its horn is a siren
that will turn my head
every time it passes my open window
even on the coldest night;
my ears will perk
in the silent frost and my
neck strains to bring them closer
to phantom sound.
and the distant click-clack
click-clack, an echo
endures from your last visit
a long row of memory
laden with other people's cargo
your burden
now mine.
i tell myself
the whistle blares for me
and not some other wanderer
whose lust could never be as strong
as the love that waits on the crystal breeze
that circles around my bed posts
through my body
and fills the empty space
that sleeps beside me.
