Things We Said Today

That summer,
I sat at breakfast, sixteen,
munching Captain Crunch
a stranger in your house
kitchen glowing like a grotto
knowing only your mother
who came to town
every week
with a Bible group
giving smiles freely
words of comfort
wisdom
made me feel
the world was
not so bad
but not quite as good
as booze, pills,
the assault of rock n roll
blasted away loneliness
fanned hormonal fires,
Kinks, Clash, X-Ray Specs.
I wanted a ride
to a higher side,
desired
a little loving
and a place
to crash,
but not home
where hearts ache
and boredom fills the air
like a sticky August afternoon.
I wanted an end
to the ceaseless beatings of
deep, dark, depression
lying awake at night
on a sweat-drenched bed
eyes open, on the ceiling,
not knowing what or who
to believe,
my mind moved quicker
than Hermes' feet
far into delusion,
mindful,
but not feeling
true Jesus peace -
so I daydreamed,
heard sneakered-feet
beating
uneven rhythm
down a staircase -
kitchen spoons
on cardboard,
a girl's voice laughing,
crashing on a landing,
rubber soled music
from another room.
I rose on beats of
my vulture-winged heart,
waited while a form
darkened the doorway,
inched silent movie slow
into light,
first the eyes,
doe-brown, delicate, 
sneaky grin
under curly
dirty-blonde hair.
In diffused morning light,
you stood
"Portrait of a Woman"
by Romero de Torres.
I fell hard, Wow,
this is it,
too young
to know,
the beginning
is the end
of everything.