Ronnie Kerrigan - Counterfeit Lovers

The bitter black breeze
lies trapped in a weather-warped town,
where nothing moves or breathes,
not even the breeze.

It waits for the yellow bruise to seep heat
on the ocean-like prairie, and the sand
dunes that rise and fall submissively,
shouldering each other towards infinity.

I stand by a crooked wooden sign close
to the rail track, rubbing a knuckle under
my watery nose, that shimmers subtle as
a strip of steel suddenly stroked by the sun.

I feel like water in a glass.
Unsteady, faceless, in search of a corpulent cloud
to cling to, and pass out of sight to somewhere
silent, somewhere less abrasive.

This town can coat eyes with emptiness.
It sits spineless, with mean modest buildings
in somber familiarity. Everything
is lazy, even the dirt and dust.

From the main street of this deserted backwater
my eyes strain, as I sweep the terrain of
isolated boulders and stunted trees,
to grasp a glimpse of customary mediocrity.

The bitter black breeze lies near.
Momentarily we dance, ghost-pale in ethereal air,
wedged between dusk and dawn,
like counterfeit lovers.

Ronnie Kerrigan

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/counterfeit-lovers/