The Sailor

Charlie Bolton

The Sailor “A Conviction Poem”

At first touch it may certainly seem to be possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It was hot in that coffee shop, and the breeze from the fan through golden waves pushed red roots up and over the frame of your delicate light bouncing from propane paint brushes wanting to play hide and seek with your cheek bones, dimples, and eye lashes. The night was clear as a bell but I can’t see through the fog of past lovers and stories I’d hate to tell. I’d say I felt alone in a crowded room but there was plenty of space including the table between you and I. At Stella's we were packed like anchovies and you didn’t know me to well enough to understand when I accidentally bumped into you "OPPS SORRY" I wanted to introduce my hand to yours. But first impressions with my finger tips always make me a nervous wreck, it seemed to be like torpedoes glide burst in my stomach, if I go overboard I’d hate to see my food again, hands clammy. Don't say anything fishy. What if I say the wrong thing? After all, loose lips sink ships. The night needed its mother’s hands to help it balance upright, and at the other end of the room at the corner table be its father. Farther and farther drifted away an opportunity for you and I to become the U and S. S.S Savior off the coast of my lonely dessert island. You waved and smiled at me, picture perfect like your vintage camera collection. You were the flag on a distant ship. But I was stranded without a paddle. Oh the pains of no progress like a broken arm, I wanted to put this cast away for good that's all, the Tom Hanks to my Volley Ball.  But you dropped anchor and anger at myself suddenly settled, but silent screams inside seem stupid, so surreal… My heart swooned at the sound of your melodic voice, and this coffee shop, oh it spun like a top, top heavy, shoulders slouch, mouth and lips quiver, sweat beads tumble and shiver, careless steps, last breath,

JUST DO IT!
My usual approach 

As smooth as a new package of sand paper. But your smile followed, and the chair I had pulled up for you had not a single splinter,you were the center of attention from gazing eyes, stories of photography, but the details were far from black and white. places we want to go and people we want to know and affection I want to show. you were wearing my jacket. finger tips trace upon hand upon hip. You had this personality, this pep, see? I could see you had. **SING** “The body like a coke bottle” we came face to face, must keep this moment, your lips meet… mine. The night now wanted to move out because it was getting tired of it’s mom saying to be home by 12:00. OKAY MOM I WILL. Gah... It's bad when both of us are bad at goodbyes. I got home and I couldn't sleep, nor did I want to, all I could think, was of you. The careless arrival of butterflies in my torpedo shrapnel scared stomach spread down like sunburns. Watch the sun rise over red melting glaciers like the hair that flowed over your face framing those dimples cheek bones and eye lashes in a mental photo. That night I was far from finesse, but I caress these moments in scrap books and photo albums.

                                                                         thank you.