Bar Tales Chapter 9: Mountains

Sometimes you are just gazing at the back of a woman
sitting a few chairs in front of you, wearing a strapless
dress and the muscles of her black skin form mountains
her hair sometimes gets lost in the wind
her mind gets lost in foreign lands, her heart is scattered
in beautiful streets across the globe and she won't rest
until she recovers every sliver and painstakingly pieces
her soul back together and it is no surprise
why she doesn't believe in love, she hates leaving
tasks half completed, so contemplating her back
is the same as looking into never;
so there is no reason to dream of happily ever afters.
even if her smile makes you want to become a better man,
even if her tears are prayers that wishes swim in -
her every movement makes you want to dance,
recreate the ancient response to a pounding heart;
you know she will only leave you as broken
as cars on the edge of the sea,
unlike she, you are not a mountain;
and have far less heart to spare, nor
are you a conquistador, climbing is not in your blood,
so even though your body threatens to collapse
from all the hope, and bashfulness, and desire
that is beating against the walls of your skin
breath quickening, eyes closed, trying not to fall
in love with the back of a girl, two chairs in front of you,
who is the only person you've ever met
who made you feel safe.