She was my mistress before I even claimed a lover.
A teacher of the geography of the finer skin
While this young boy barely broke puberty.
With curves so delicate and a voice so corporal
We shattered the glass so thinly protecting normality.
To become the freaks of freaks trekking our way
Across this country’s natural waste lands.
Places where splendor is beneath endless sky
And violence is a veil entombed in every man’s heart.
We went searching for the American Gods.
Those myths entrenched within the soil.
Sprouting legends for silent nights and unbolted ears.
Of journey’s worth reading about and adventures
So brazen that they get misplaced within the untidy 
Virtues of our societal flaws and flamboyances.
There is still empty land out in the horizon 
Where stillness breeds unfulfilled dreams 
And the tumbleweeds bounce down forgotten highways.
Where the walking man can still be his own king
And nature will always have a cosseted place.
And if you ever make it out to these lonely dwellings
Or ride those elderly trains through the celestial causeways.
Make sure to look for the mistress and I.
We may only be one but we divide like mathematics.
And we’re always searching and collecting 
Willing travelers to navigate these numinous vacant spaces.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I had this in my profile before, but have revised it.

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