Trouble?

Trouble?

Lottery winnings can kill a person.
Booze. Smoking. Random sex, or
walking in the middle of the street.
Loss of control, what is it, but danger.

People told me you were trouble
with a capital Don't Go There.
Old and foolish, I saw something else.
Maybe the pilgrim soul in you, sailing.

Definitely more than perfume.
More like the reason I want to smell it.
Not so much the abyss, but the entire
inclination to jump into it.

When you spoke of your loves, I was
transfixed by the zero men mentioned.
In my most audacious moment of life
I felt, somehow, I could speak to you.

And I did, like a lottery winner, I did.
Drinking, breathing, walking star-eyed
through the middle of you, since --
Learning. No one else knows anything.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2012 --