No Filter A.M.

This is me at 12 A.M.
on a Friday night – Alive.
Dying to write love letters
to my dreams.

As a boy, you were there
holding my hand along the
crossroads where the oxygen
reeked of weed and Gun smoke.

My lungs gasping for hope.

That mountaintop stood head
in the clouds, and you stood
at the foot of it like a servant
even though King governed
your step every step of the way.

Way back when I was young
enough to believe in you and
old enough to make wedding
vow size promises and
not regret them…

We’ve come so far, you know.

Way too far to look back.