Road Trips Through Canyons

"Can I tell you a story?"

The words slithered
from her tongue
wrapping around me
like a boa's perilous coils;
Suffocating me
to a point
where I could only
squeak out,
"Yes."

From then on
I took road trips
on the  deep grooves
of her voice.

Traveling on
unknown back routes
where sweet grandmothers
sold flavored honey
and desperate criminals
hitchhiked
hoping no one would find
the bodies they hid.

But all the bodies she hid
Were laid
deep in her skin
marked and covered
so  that no one
would ever find
the burial grounds.

Twisting turns,
Rapids
of her gravelly voice
filling my head with
avalanches,
on avalanches
of yet un-pursued knowledge
of things
neither of us
cared for.

Brisk-fully forgetting
the canyons created
by earthquakes
bearing threats
of further developments;
deep down,
cracking through
those hidden burial grounds
letting the corpses
disperse
into the black hole
of infinity
somewhere inside
our chest
by the great
canopy of our lungs.
Holding jungles
filled with
wild breathes
that we forgot
to breathe.

They taught lessons
on how easy it is
for our bumblebee hearts
to beat out
tunes of destruction
as well as recreation,
for the only recreation
I am looking for is
one made up of
lightning strike
bedazzlement
scorching trees until
they become soot
but even in the
charred remains
grass as green
as emerald stones
still grows.

Soon our great
canyons may be
a product of our eroding souls
but never once did that mean
new life could not be
found where the corpses decompose,
become trees climbing
daring heights
to reach for the sun
inside our minds
or the water
flooding,
filling these canyons
with tears shed
over dark years
that have finally past.

Letting the droplets  hit the ground
and allowing the soil to be
fertile as a virgin's womb,
so that new grass
may grow
and change the ecosystem
of my self-esteem
into a beautiful
paradise.