Watch cars as they pass.
Make names for the drivers.
As your skin melts toward the ground
And your mind reaches to the moon
Their made-up futures pulsing through your brain
You are a transit center
Travelers pass through
Leave socks that fell from leather luggage
A Stranger's socks-- Black tubes, and Hanes
Musty with the regret
I knew the owner once
She slept in my bed
And kept her hand in my heart
I knew the owner once
She caressed my skin
And squeezed my spirit tight
I don't know when she left
But I felt the air as she passed
Traveled through-- this transit center of a heart
Leaving socks as souvenirs.
--Crys
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