Broken hands toiled in immobile earth.
Endless hours surpassed ever waning time pieces,
A dollar bill for every crushing minute.
And He wandered pothole ridden streets,
Looking to spend what he paid in soul.
Because time was just a number,
Bloody boots surrounded by neon lights, fast meals, and piping hot work,
And calloused hands touching smoother stones,
Asphalt paths through the urban wood.
He exhaled fresh nicotine among the concrete foliage,
Stumbling on the cracks, never quite taking the fall.
And then he tripped upon a great stair,
Whispering familiar dial tones and laughter.
He began to climb, with a thousand yard stare and an infinite smile.
His great armors slipped from his shoulders;
The weight, seemingly never ending.
His eyelids fell and like Icarus before him he flew higher,
Waiting for the fires he had only known....
Vibrant legs adorned in denim.
Eyes that had slain the feint of heart.
Skin surpassing hand woven cloth.
She spoke, and it was as if a golden sound caressed his every thought.
Joy.
Lust.
Mental Elation.
Curiosity.
Love.
Unrelenting wave after wave.
"Sir?"
Decadent destruction of comprehension.
"Sir?"
Pulled from purgatory and dragged into paradise.
“Sir?”, the server asks once more.
He regains himself.
They're done.
She tells him to stop staring.
He checks the bill,
Smiling.
