He likes bridges

Misty Bridge by vivisektor

He likes bridges,
bridges over rivers.
And when I cross them I am truly lost,
lost between the worlds and I need to hold his hand.
He walks the cliffs that are too steep to be walked.

He is not a sea-god to me.
A ferry crossed the ocean waves and he was not there.
The steady surface of the deep waters is not like him at all.
He is a god of piers, of seaside fun,
of ice cream cones that are too sweet,
wooden roller coasters,
and smooth pieces of glass to be found on the beach.

A god of the tricky mist creeping in.
He disorientates,
makes you lose your footing.
He is the wind that I fear the most,
that I may be blown of the surface of the earth
and never land again.

He is exactly in that place and time,
when the sun breaks through the clouds.
but also when it vanishes and you lose all hope.

He provide no other comfort
than the burning warmth of whiskey
and I do not even like whiskey.

He walks the cliffs that are to steep to be walked.
He is exactly in that place and time,
when the sun breaks through the clouds
He creates rainbows for the hell of it.
The stories of those washed ashore, he likes best of all.
And the women he likes are just a tiny bit too young.

We met in Scotland
and rarely our paths cross
for he doesn’t like paved roads.

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