this needed a title, so i named it after you (s)

You told me that you didn’t believe in God.
Your face turned to pixels, and He washed you away
with his hands.
He shaped them and swayed them
so that they became brooms,
sweeping away your apathy and ugly.
Grudgingly you kissed me and
I became a red fish,
bursting for Darwin, gills exploded
I was
a frantic acrobat stuck on land.

You reeled me in, fishermen. You were shape-shifters then.
Hooks in, you were a coke pusher-liar, a jazz musician, a Gemini.
You were a Delta, a dark haired and thick-skinned, one or two night standoffish bed post.
Once you told me I was pretty on the yellowed tile of a stranger’s bathroom.
When you dreamt, you dreamt about Italy. You were greenish copper scarred.
You were a bi-polar muscle car monger, steadfast and dead wrong.
You were one hundred percent Dutch and one hundred percent Italian.
You were Bob Dylan. You were an old man.

The others went out like lamps.
You remained, you were an alibi.
I stared blindly at your sacrum.
In retrospect, it was tired then
I told you how sorry I was,
for all that I had been.