I’m fragile like a porcelain saucer, all bruised edges and a good heart held together with aging glue.
The first bull in my china shop has always been and will always be you.
You’re the backroad to the bones of an abandoned house,
a narrow road birthing your wide shoulders to the home where we secretly gave each other mouth-to-mouth…
The tears I’ve cried for your comings and going,
are a flooded river continuously overflowing.
You were my real first,
better than bourbon at quenching my thirst.
You’re the boy who broke my heart and will still testify,
that it’s the best heart anyone could come by.
But that boy who broke all the dishes in an almost empty room,
became a man who can always set me in full bloom.
I wish I could lay claim to Horse Creek’s prodigal son.