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Crime Scene Fingerprints
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American Bed Time Stories My fingerprints were all over the crime scene,
but i was never there.
Your lipstick was all over my collar,
but you weren't my partner
in crime,
nor met
victimization;
not even a fleeing, heel-strewn witness.
I was never there, as i said
and you were never with me, before or since.
Our dreams and crimes are a forgery,
a fabrication in our heads;
we both never made it to hello.
Evey desire and hurt and accusation
we could muster
came in our equally cynical and lustful
imaginations
of what would have gone wrong,
had we said started at hello,
as we stared across a train car
at each other,
right past the emptiness within
we'll never fill.
Whole truth be told,
the people we're each looking at
aren't even one another,
we're looking down into our hands.
Swiping at a screen of passing pictures,
and one of us isn't even on hand,
on that train...
My fingerprints were all over the crime scene,
but i was never there.
Your valentine was playing my heart strings,
but i wasn't your partner
in crime.
You get
up to exit the train,
i reach up from my seat and turn out the lamp.
We'll revisit this tomorrow,
dusting our sterile existence
for fingerprints,
for proof that anything
- even a crime -
has been committed.
