295,734,134

This longing nearly drives me to tears. There are 295,734,134 people living in this country.
I want to connect with only one.
Only one.
Where are you? Lady of Black Highway and Lonely Heart, where are you, Baby?
I need you to coat my soul with your presence. Cover me with the things that cannot be seen by Man. The naked eye and my naked soul. Waiting for you at this snow covered depot in No Man's Land.
My hands are hidden in my pockets. Smoking this cigarette. Looking left. Looking right. Where are your headlights? I long to see them creeping out of this black night. To hear the black tires of your automobile crunching white snow and ice would surely send this heart out of this chest (trembling) and into the heavens with wings of fire (beautiful).
We will go to Nina's All Nite Diner and smoke and drink coffee and talk and dare to dream. Share the novel of your existence with me. My eyes will absorb your words. Your silent words. Graceful brush strokes on a fleeting canvas. Graceful is the smoke that billows from your red lips as you remove the cigarette with blue painted (chipping) fingernails growing from your fingers and your hand and the smooth milk that is your arms.
I cannot touch you. I dare not spoil your perfection (so effortless!) with this foul soul. The observer. The witness with dirty fingernails in a gallery of clean and unmarked beings.
"I lost the other mitten," she speaks, showing a tattered and worn pink mitten. "Without the other, this mitten is useless."
Could I? O! Could I be the mitten to complete the pair? To provide! To furnish! To deliver! To give! Is this an invitation?
O, Insulated Majesty - I will do my best to keep you warm. Your hands, your body, your presence. I will shield you from this putrid torrent of the skies. I will shelter. I will protect. These wicked bones (with rotting marrow) will do what they can and what they can't I will muster (from the Belly of Hell) the strength and courage to guard, preserve, shield and ward. You.
You
You
You
You
Through.............through............................
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Through the snowflakes, these pure white feathers from frozen heaven, I can see the sun slowing ascending. Where are you, Lady of Black Highway and Lonely Heart? I've been at this dilapidating depot for O so long, so many years, so many. My vigilance will not (must not!) waiver. I shall be here, weathered and tattered and worn (like your pink mitten). I shall be here.
Waiting.



mc