ambling.

like life's tight black jeans
staring into the face of a hot summer's day
absorbing the heavy heat
of the moment,
i was walking.

walking, some might say ambling
down the familiar road, feet quietly aching
(they do in these shoes, but they look great)
as they carried me, whilst my mind
took a different path

no whistles this time
my usual companion neglected,
for nature's idle tune

i wandered, or ambled, legs and limbs alike
words sprawling across the arm of that sunken, threadbare chair
despite the inky pipe lingering on fabric's edge
to inhale that bittersweet taste
of the redemption i seek, so tempting

and yet, i resist,
strong in my cowardice
those words may tear
that old chair
to bits, but for all the tears and truths and blame
those words will remain
locked away.

but the key stained with fateful black must have fallen,
beneath the strands of grass
that brushed my fingertips
as, eyes closed, i strolled, or ambled
through a buttery field
batting her purple lashes
stroking deceit, i failed to notice

so those words stay,
locked away
burning the insides of my eyelids, screaming
as i ramble on
my aching feet carry me, ambling
across that open plain.